


A Certain Mood

by Rabenschnabel



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Barty Crouch Jr Appreciation 2k19, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Goblet of Fire Fix It, Grooming, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Morally Grey Harry Potter, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, i guess?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2020-09-28 15:35:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 20
Words: 92,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20428298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rabenschnabel/pseuds/Rabenschnabel
Summary: The moment the Goblet of Fire spat Harry's name out, it was second year all over again. Shunned by most of Hogwarts and made out to be an attention-seeking liar, he feels more isolated than ever.When a chance encounter with his new Defense professor leads to an offer he can't refuse, Harry's long trek down into darkness begins.It starts out slow but once he's in deep enough to notice, only one question remains: does he even want to go back?And what is this strange connection he feels to Voldemort once he allows himself to give the Dark Lord a chance? Eventually... letting go seems like the easiest thing in the world.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Important Info:
> 
> This is my feel good fic that I write when I just want to write and not think much. At first, it wasn't even meant for publication but once I was like 12k words in I thought aw hell, why not?  
So I went over it, polished things a little and here we are!
> 
> It's nothing groundbreaking but maybe it makes you feel as cozy reading it as I feel writing it :>

The view from the Astronomy Tower was breathtaking at night. Hogwarts' vast grounds stretched in every direction and the still Black Lake looked like a reflection of the night sky.

Harry watched the treetops of the Forbidden Forest waft gently in the midnight breeze and pulled his coat tighter around him. 

He felt silly, sitting up here all alone, but who was there left to spend time with? Well, there was Hermione of course, but she would never sneak out of the dorms with him just to 'get away from it all'. 

Ever since his name had been spat out by the goblet, life had taken a turn for the worse. It was second year all over again, except this time he had even less people on his side. 

Sighing, he drew up his knees and rested his eyes on them until he only saw white-hot dots of light pulsating behind his eyelids. He was only fourteen, how was he supposed to even survive this? The other champions looked so big, so strong, so… _ capable._ Even for his own age he was small and despite being the Boy-Who-Lived he was mediocre at magic at best. 

Futilely, he wished that none of this had happened. That he could have just dropped out of the tournament. That maybe, just this once, it could have happened to someone else. Anyone else. 

He was all too soon roused from his round of self-pity by the sound of squeaky door hinges. Cursing himself for putting his invisibility cloak in his satchel because he had wanted to feel the breeze on his face, Harry started rummaging for it. 

That would be grand, wouldn't it? Being found by someone like Snape and losing Gryffindor so many house points that he'd be even more of a pariah? He could see it now and couldn't hold back a little chuckle. 

Seeing who stepped through the door, though, Harry realised his efforts had been in vain anyway. It was Moody who could probably look through his cloak with that eye of his. 

"Hullo, professor," Harry greeted simply, getting off the ground.

"Not gonna jump off the tower on us, are you, Potter?" 

"What? I– No, of course not, professor," Harry stuttered. "Sorry for making you come up here." 

"What else are you doing here, then? Just enjoying the view?" Moody's voice was cutting in its acerbity and Harry shivered. "Or is there a lady friend hiding somewhere?" 

"No ladies here," Harry told him drily. "No one wants to be my friend anyway except for Hermione, and she's, well, more like an older sister, really." 

"What? No one but her on your side anymore? And here I thought you were the Light's golden boy," Moody growled, conjuring a bench and patting the empty seat next to him. 

"I never was," Harry told him, reluctantly taking the proffered seat. "Look, it's not like I'm not happy to finally have an adult listen to me, but… you're a friend of Dumbledore's and I'm kind of cross with him at the moment. I don't really feel like talking much." 

He felt Moody regarding him intently and wondered whether that was the wrong thing to say. 

"I'm not close to Dumbledore," the grizzled auror finally told him. "Not for quite some time now. I came here to see for myself how bad the new generation of students is going to be at defending themselves. After only two months I am already ready to throw in the towel with how _ behind _ everyone is. None of these students will last ten seconds in a battle against a real dark wizard."

"So it wasn't a favour to Dumbledore?"

Harry felt conflicted. He made the headmaster responsible for somehow having failed to keep him out of the tournament and for abandoning him and his worries afterwards. It had been two weeks and he hadn't gotten so much as a "By the way, Harry, I hope you'll be fine in the tournament seeing as you're so much younger than all the other willing contestants. Jolly good, carry on!" 

"Definitely not," Moody gritted out. "So tell me– how is it that the Boy-Who-Lived isn't the most popular boy in all of Hogwarts?" 

Harry shrugged, shivering a little despite himself. He saw Moody get his wand out and heard him cast a charm he didn't know. Instantly, he felt a lot warmer and was immensely grateful for it. 

"It must have been second year," Harry mused. "Everyone thought I was the Heir of Slytherin back then and I guess some of them still do? Look, I don't know. I just came here when I was eleven, knowing _ nothing _ about the wizarding world and over three years later, I still feel like I make one mistake after the other. I'm just… average. Mediocre. They all expected someone special, someone brilliant, but most of the time I can't even keep up with Hermione."

He didn't know what compelled him to spill his heart to Moody, of all people, but then again he always had… special relationships to his Defense professors?

"The heir of Slytherin? Why should it be you, of all people?" Moody was searching his face intently, his magical eye whirring around wildly in its socket. "What did you do?" 

"I… accidentally outed myself as a parselmouth," Harry admitted. "I didn't know it was a bad thing or a connection to Voldemort. I only found out when I was ten years old and spoke to a snake in a zoo. I didn't even think about it again until the snake almost attacked Justin Finch-Fletchley during the Dueling Club in second year but I thought I ought to save him."

"You're a _ what _ now? That's… entirely unexpected if I may say so," Moody grimaced, putting one of his hands over his scarred face. "_Why _ is that not common knowledge?" 

"I guess Dumbledore tried to keep the whole Chamber of Secrets thing under wraps," Harry theorised but no sooner had he uttered those words, did Moody suddenly grab his shoulders. 

"The _ Chamber?_ What else has Dumbledore kept from the ministry? You need to tell me _ everything, _Harry!" 

Not even noticing that Moody had switched to his first name, Harry wriggled free from the man's grasp. He didn't enjoy being touched. Thinking about what to tell the man, he gathered his memories. 

"I'd… really like to tell you," Harry slowly said. "It's kinda… sad to realise that no one ever really asked me about all the things that happened to me ever since I came into the wizarding world. Not even Professor Lupin, and he was my parents' friend." 

"Surely Dumbledore keeps tabs on you? He's your magical guardian, after all, since Black is a wanted criminal." 

Harry laughed hollowly. "Why am I not surprised? He hasn't even told me about _ that… _ Then again, he never tells me anything and in a couple weeks none of it matters anyway because I'll probably die somehow in the tournament's first task." 

He felt his eyes prickle with tears and cursed under his breath. What would Moody think, seeing him weak like this? He would think him a coward, a wanna-be, a… an impostor, like all the others. 

Instead, Moody threw a heavy arm around his shoulders and pulled him into his side. 

"Don't worry, lad," the old auror shushed him. "There's still some fire left in these old bones. Damn all the rules about favouritism and all that nonsense– I'm only here for a year, anyway. After that, the supposed curse will get me and Albus doesn't have anyone else for the position. Do you care about winning? About possibly losing points once it's found out you have the help of a teacher?"

Harry immediately shook his head. "No, I only want to survive this stinking tournament, somehow. Then I want to finish school in peace and get a nice, quiet job somewhere where I don't have to ever see anyone I don't want to ever again. Preferably in, I don't know, Australia or something." 

Moody made a weird huffing sound that Harry soon identified as a laugh. 

"Then I will make sure to help you survive that tournament," Moody promised. "Albus may think you will survive by sheer dumb luck but I won't take any chances. You're _ way _ too valuable."

"Because I'm the Boy-Who-Lived?" 

"No," Moody muttered darkly, pressing him closer to his side. "I only ask one thing in return. I want you to tell me about your past school years, your life before Hogwarts, whatever comes to your mind, really. I don't think you've had many people simply _ listen _before, have you?" 

Harry's mood darkened even further at that. 

"Well, I do, uh, _ did _ have my friends. But, well, they're kids just like me," he shrugged. "I mean, Hermione has lots of good advice but she never _ just _ listens, she always tries to _ fix _ everything. And Ron is, well, Ron gets jealous really easily. He can't imagine how I could possibly not want to have fame and fortune." 

Moody at first didn't answer and seemed to wait for something. 

"Wait, that's all? Two friends?" 

"I'm friendly with the Quidditch team," Harry added, indignant. "And some other people in my year. Hagrid, of course. And, well. Professor Lupin, I suppose? But he hasn't contacted me since last year, so I guess not. There's someone else who's on my side but I'm not at liberty to talk." 

Fortunately, Moody didn't pry. 

"That's still so few people," Moody commented without malice. "You're the saviour of the wizarding world, you're the heir and only living descendant to an old and filthy rich family, how are there not more people fawning over you?" 

"I don't know," Harry admitted, voice thick. "I really don't. Look, this is… this is really hard to talk about. Can we please not?" 

Moody merely grumbled at that and pulled him further into his side. The thick leather coat that must be from Moody's time as an auror had been cool at first but had warmed considerably since then against his own skin. 

"This world has done a right number on you, lad," Moody finally said. "And don't take this the wrong way, I didn't look any further, but how is it that the clothes you wear under your school uniform are so terribly big and old?" 

Harry shrunk in on himself and wanted to escape from Moody's grasp but the man held him firm until he stopped squirming against the hold. Could he really tell him? No one else had ever done anything for him when he'd told them. Not even Sirius had been able to keep his promise though that had been through no fault of his own, really. 

"I live with my… relatives outside of school." 

"But– no. Wait. You said that you didn't know about magic until you were eleven years old, didn't you? This can't be right! Tell me, lad." 

"They're my… mother's relatives," Harry whispered and he felt shame wash over him. "Her sister and her husband and son. They're not, I mean, to them, magic is…" 

He stopped there, noticing his eyes fill with tears again and felt even weaker now. 

"They don't like it?" 

"No, they really, _ really _ don't," Harry coughed, trying to stem the flow of tears. "I'm, they. They beat me. They starve me and lock me in my room and before my letter came, I didn't even have a room. They kept me in the cupboard under the stairs and I always had to hide when guests were over and no one was supposed to know I was there because I'm a _ freak_."

He was bawling now after the flow of words had subsided and sobbed into his hands. Moody had gone rigid against him, even his magical eye had stopped whizzing around. Great, his display of how hurt and weak and _ broken _ he was had been too much even for an auror. 

Harry made to pull away and even managed to wiggle out of Moody's hold. He'd gotten as far as getting up before the auror was standing, too, and pulled him into a warm embrace. Even though Moody looked terrifying, he smelled nice– freshly washed with a hint of lemon, somehow? 

Gosh, but it was nice to be held like this. He'd never been hugged by an adult before Sirius and even theirs had been so very brief. Well, Hagrid too, but it didn't count as comfort if it almost broke your ribs. This was different. The arms encircling him promised protection and comfort and Harry shamelessly fisted the fabric of Moody's robe and cried his heart out. 

"And the clothes are your cousin's old, dirty cast-offs? They've been abusing you ever since you came there as a young toddler? And they send you back to these animals _ every._ _single_. _ summer!_?" 

Harry answered every question with a frantic nod. 

"Dumbledore says there are blood protections there from my mum," he pressed out.

"Dumbledore can go eat a big bag of dicks," Moody growled and Harry felt himself chuckle despite the tears. "Look, lad, _ Harry_, with your history, I understand why you wouldn't trust an adult promising you things, but hear me out. If, after the year is out, you want to come with me, I will take you with me." 

Harry stopped his still soft crying abruptly and looked up at Moody with wide, wet eyes. "What?" 

"I don't have much and I don't know if you still want to at the end of the year, but… if you want to, I'll take you with me," he repeated and Harry wondered why the man expected he _ wouldn't_? 

"But Dumbledore–" 

"Can eat a bag of dicks. I told you. He might be the most powerful wizard around but I have a couple aces up my sleeve, too. If you want to come, he won't be able to stop me." 

"I'm, I, I _ do _ want to come with you," Harry quickly assured him. "But why? Why me?" 

"I believe we've been over the reasons," Moody told him, adjusting Harry's rumpled clothing. "I could make a fine wizard out of you. Get you up to date on etiquette and your place in the world. Merlin knows _ Albus _never did his dues." 

Harry was speechless. Moody was mad, of course, at least everyone said he was, but this was the most kindness Harry had been shown in _ months _ and his stomach was doing happy little flips. Maybe, this time, he really didn't have to return to the Dursleys? 

"Thank you, professor," he said earnestly, fighting to show the man a genuine smile. "I'll try not to disappoint you." 

"Oh, you won't," Moody shrugged, licking his lips nervously. Weird, he'd never seen the man have a tic before but maybe he was nervous, too? Either way, he must have seen terrible things as an auror and hearing about child abuse– huh. It was weird to think about the Dursleys' treatment of him as abuse, but it must have been, right? Moody was basically the magical version of the police, or had been, and _ he _ had said so. 

-o-


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lunalunalunaluna <3

The next morning, after way too little sleep, Harry slunk out before his dorm mates had even woken up. Despite his protest, Moody had escorted him back to his common room last night and Harry still felt all warm at the memory of someone caring enough to make sure that he wouldn't get caught alone after curfew by another teacher. 

Now all he had to do was wait. He knew Hermione was always one of the first to get up, usually making time for a little study session even before breakfast. True to form she came down not much later than him.

She was apparently surprised to see him and came over to him. 

"Am I rubbing off on you this much, Harry?" Her tone was slightly teasing but her smile was real and warm. 

"Maybe," Harry agreed and then lowered his voice to a whisper. "I have something important to tell you." 

Hermione was instantly cautious. "You look… wound up, Harry. Is it something bad?" 

"On the contrary," he replied, starting to move towards the back of the portrait. "Come on, I need to tell you so _ much!_" 

He didn't need to tell her twice. They'd soon located a disused classroom and Hermione had erected a privacy spell. Wondering where he should start, Harry soon decided on why he had gone to the Astronomy Tower and winged it from there. 

After he was done, Hermione was thoughtful. 

"That is very generous of Professor Moody," she finally said. "I'm sure that, as you said, his job as an auror has left more than physical marks on him."

Suddenly, though, her eyes started filling with tears.

"Hermione, what's wrong?" He felt at a loss and hesitantly went over to give her a hug. He always liked being hugged by friends when he was sad. 

"Look at me, crying," she sniffled. "_I _should be consoling _ you! _" 

Oh! Well, yeah. He'd never really told either of his friends exactly _ how _he'd been treated at the Dursleys, had he? They knew about the locks during the summer after first year, of course, and that his relatives weren't his biggest fans, but apart from that? He felt even worse now. 

"I'm so sorry, Harry, I should have noticed," Hermione said with a shaky voice after she'd stopped crying. "After all, I'm one of your best friends. I'm _ ever _ so happy that Professor Moody has decided to be there for you, maybe he can even help you with S-Snuffles." 

Harry's heart jumped at that– maybe he could! 

"I just wonder," Hermione continued, "why Headmaster Dumbledore keeps sending you back there. Yes, the blood protections, but still! There are many old family manors with wards that are almost as old as Hogwarts'. I bet there would have been loads of families who'd have loved to have taken you in." 

"It's no use crying about it," Harry reminded her. "What's done is done. At least this time I might have a real home." 

"If, and I mean only _ if_, it doesn't work out for some reason, I will ask my parents if you can stay with me, alright?" Her gaze was steely and Harry was glad she was on his side. "Headmaster Dumbledore might think he's doing the right thing but he looks so much at the bigger picture that he sometimes forgets the little things, I'm afraid. I have realised that now." 

-o-

Even though they'd both gotten up really early they were still plenty late for breakfast due to talking for so long. Harry chanced a glance up at the head table as they sat down and found Moody already looking at him. The man winked with his real eye and Harry allowed himself a small, secret grin. 

He already couldn't wait for the day to be over, knowing that he had 'detention' with Moody for being out after curfew after lessons were done. It was barely two weeks until the first task and his newly-appointed favourite professor wanted to drum as many spells into him as possible until then. 

In the end, the day passed rather quickly. Harry had asked Hermione if she wanted to come but she had declined. She was glad he was in capable hands and wanted to spend some more time in the library, she'd told him. He knew that she wanted to keep up her straight O's in every subject. She'd even promised to share anything useful she found with him immediately and, in turn, he'd promised to keep her up to date on his progress as well.

He could find his way to the Defense classroom blind after spending so much time with Lupin there last year and he felt another stab of hurt. He'd written his former professor a letter via Hedwig once he'd arrived at the Weasleys' home last summer but Hedwig had returned without an answer. 

Shaking his head to get rid of the memories, Harry stepped inside the classroom. Steeling himself, he crossed it and went up the stairs to knock at the office door. Immediately, he heard a barked "Come in!" and opened the door tentatively. 

It looked so different from when Lupin had been here and he felt very strange about it all. Moody must have felt his trepidation because he showed him around the room, pointing out foe glasses and other contraptions Harry had never heard of. They quite reminded him of the whirring and whizzing little apparatuses in Dumbledore's office but he supposed the professor wouldn't want to hear about that. 

He sat on an offered chair across from Moody and crossed his arms because he didn't know where to put his hands. It was so strange, this. 

"So you haven't changed your mind?"

Harry looked at Moody with wide eyes. "About wanting you to help me? No, of course not! I'm _ doomed _ without some help."

"Good," Moody thundered and pushed a plate of biscuits at him. "Eat this, lad, you're skin and bones. Starting at dinner tonight, you'll eat some more, you hear me? And choose something healthy. You're a teenaged boy– if there's one thing you need, it's calories. You might even grow a few inches." 

Harry ducked his head. "You've noticed?" 

"Of course I've noticed," Moody told him and gestured at his eye. "Even when I'm not looking, I'm looking. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" 

Harry winced and grabbed a biscuit. 

"Alright, sir," he agreed. "I'll try to eat better. It's really hard for me to eat much but I'll try. I'll get Hermione to help me with healthy options." 

"To survive the tournament, you need to be in good shape," Moody reminded him again. "Can't have you keeling over while facing a dragon, can we?" 

Harry laughed at that image but Moody wasn't laughing with him. Slowly, realisation dawned on him and he shook his head. 

"You're joking. Right? Please tell me you're joking…" 

"Afraid not, lad. They organised _ dragons _for the first task. They'll be here shortly." 

Harry's world seemed to do a backflip all of a sudden and he found himself lying on his back. Did he trip? Wait, while sitting? Surely not. Then, he remembered. 

_ Dragons! _

He pushed himself up into a sitting position and was surprised to find the ground giving way under his hand. Looking down, he saw a mattress between himself and the floor and looked up at Moody. 

"Thanks. I don't always faint like that," he promised, blushing. 

Moody regarded him with something akin to pity, helped him up with surprising strength and vanished the mattress with a flick of his wand. 

"Don't worry, lad," the man consoled him. "Many an adult wizard would lose his bearings when faced with a dragon all on his own." 

Harry felt himself pale even further at that and he quickly sat down again. 

"You really need to eat more," Moody stressed. "Tomorrow evening, I would like you to bring your friend if she finds the time. I think I'm going to need some support with this." 

Harry nodded, feeling a pleased smile creep onto his face. He felt reminded of Mrs. Weasley always urging him to eat a little more and tried with all his might not to immediately think of Ron, too. 

"What's wrong?" Moody cocked his head at him. "You're thinking of something bad, aren't you? Look, we'll find a way for you to face that dragon and escape mostly unharmed." 

"That's not it," Harry admitted. "It's Ron, I'm… we've been through so much together and for him to abandon me like this? He _ knows _ I didn't put my name in the Goblet. He _ knows _ I hate all the fame and the whispers and all that stuff. I'm just so very disappointed and, well, hurt, I guess? I feel like he's shown his true colours. He won't even talk to me."

Moody nodded thoughtfully. 

"I find it very telling that your other friend stayed by your side, Harry," Moody told him. "For now, you should focus exclusively on those who are loyal to you. Deal with the others once you have time again– even if that is only after the tournament. Let them dig their own graves."

He was right, wasn't he? Harry was going to face a dragon in less than two weeks time and he didn't have time for Ron's pettiness now. Resolve found, he looked back at Moody. 

"You're right, I need to focus on the task." 

"That's what I want to hear, lad," Moody praised him. "Now, as for the task…" 

They spent the rest of the time until dinner assessing what useful spells Harry knew and Moody was satisfied. Not wowed, but also not disappointed. Harry supposed that at the end of this year, he might have an even bigger repertoire yet and to be honest– he couldn't wait. 

He was reminded of first-year Harry who had been so looking forward to learning magic. But ever since he'd been friends with Ron, which had basically been all his time at Hogwarts, he'd become a slob in all things school. He was only really good at Defense and that was because it came to him naturally. He would never be a Hermione but he supposed he might invest a little more time and diligence into his studies from now on. 

When he shared his insight with Hermione at dinner she gifted him with a grin so wide he could see her molars. 

"Oh Harry, that's brilliant," she gushed. "I knew you had it in you, I'm so glad you're finally seeing _ reason _. Of course I'll come with you tomorrow afternoon, but you have to hold me back or I'll give Professor Moody a hug because he did in one day what I couldn't do in over three years!" 

Harry sheepishly ducked his head and watched how Hermione sought out Moody's gaze only to give the man a thumbs-up and another brilliant smile. To his surprise, Moody actually smiled his fearsome smile back and returned the gesture. 

Well, stranger things had happened. Harry continued dutifully spooning steamed vegetables in his mouth like Hermione was doing. 

-o-

The next afternoon, on their way to Moody's quarters, Harry and Hermione came upon a group of other students. They were shoving a blonde girl around and Harry watched her colourful satchel slip from her shoulder and fall to the ground with a thud. One of the bullies was starting to make a grab for it. 

Before Harry knew what he was doing, he'd used a new spell they'd learned, _ Accio _, to summon the satchel to him. 

"Leave her alone," he demanded. "You're five to one, have you no shame?" 

That's when he noticed that all the students were wearing Ravenclaw colours and frowned. He'd have expected this from the Slytherins but the eagles? 

The students whispered amongst themselves but when they saw Hermione standing slightly behind Harry, now also drawing her wand, they quickly dispersed. Figures, Harry chuckled to himself. He wouldn't want to be on the wrong end of a wand from Hermione either. 

His friend was already on her way to the girl, checking her over. 

"You're not hurt, are you? I'm Hermione, by the way, and this is Harry." 

"Oh I'm fine," the girl said in a calm voice. "They were going to leave _ eventually_, you know? They always do." 

"Always," Harry repeated. "Meaning that happens regularly?" 

The girl nodded, her too big eyes searching his face. "You really _ should _ get those glasses looked at, Harry Potter," she commented. "They're not the right prescription for you. You're squinting. I'm Luna, by the way. Luna Lovegood. Thank you for helping me." 

"Oh, I probably will. Thanks, Luna," Harry grinned. 

"Uhm, Luna, why aren't you wearing any shoes?" Hermione sounded worried and Harry looked down at Luna's feet clad in nothing but rainbow-coloured socks. 

"Oh, the nargles must have taken them. Haven't seen them since I arrived here. That happens every year so I'm mostly not bothered anymore," the girl shrugged. 

"We're on our way to Professor Moody," Harry told her. "He conjured me a mattress yesterday when I, uh, fell. Maybe he can make a pair of shoes for you?" 

"Oh that would be lovely," Luna agreed, clapping her hands excitedly. 

-o-

Moody looked slightly confused when Harry brought not only Hermione with him but Luna as well. 

"Sorry for springing this on you, sir," Harry apologised, "but we found Luna here being bullied on our way to you and she didn't even have _ shoes _ because they took them!" 

Harry felt terrible about this. He hated it with a passion when people were being bullied.

Moody tsked meanwhile, mustering Luna's feet. The girl was rocking on them and wriggling her toes, seemingly oblivious to the cold stone floor.

"The nargles took them," Luna argued. "They're mean little things."

Sighing, Moody conjured a pair of simple black boots on the ground in front of Luna and the girl hopped delightedly.

"Thank you," she beamed, stepping into the shoes and lacing them up. "And they fit so well." 

When she righted herself again, she seemed to see Moody for the first time and frowned. Harry followed her gaze and saw Moody do that tongue thing again like on the tower. 

"Everything alright, Ms. Lovegood?" 

"I was just admiring your wrackspurts," the girl stated. "There are _ lots _ of them but I've never seen them so orderly before. It's strange that I haven't noticed earlier." 

Moody seemed at a loss for words, so Harry stepped forward.

"Do you have your homework with you, Luna? Maybe you can work on it in the Defense classroom while Hermione and I talk to Professor Moody. Afterwards, you could come to dinner with us?" 

"Oh, I'd like that very much," Luna enthusiastically replied. "I've never eaten dinner with anyone before here at Hogwarts!" 

Harry felt a pang in his chest upon that declaration and watched the small girl skipping down the stairs to sit in one of the chairs at the back of the class and pull out parchment and ink. 

"Well _ that _ was heartbreaking," Moody commented drily. "She can come here with you whenever she feels like it, I suppose. Anyway, Ms. Granger, I'm glad you could make it. I want to talk to you about your friend here."

Moody conjured another chair and the two teens sat down when the professor did so first.

"Of course, Professor," Hermione nodded eagerly. "Do you need me to research anything?" 

"Not exactly, no," Moody replied. "Nothing too time-consuming. You're a health-conscious young lady, aren't you? Eat your fill, eat your greens– that sort of thing. What I'd like you to do is keep an eye on Mr. Potter here and make sure he does the same. He needs to gain some weight and he needs some vitamins and nutrients. Lots more than he's been getting."

Hermione's eyes grew wide and she smiled more wickedly than Harry had thought her capable. 

"Finally," the girl sighed dramatically. "I've been telling him that for _ years _ and now he's finally going to listen! Thank you, Professor Moody! And Harry, next Hogsmeade weekend, we're getting you new glasses, or even better: an eye healing appointment! And new clothes! And–" 

"Woah, 'Mione, calm down," Harry stopped her. "Where is this coming from, all of a sudden?" 

"I'd guess Ms. Granger has had these issues near and dear to her heart for quite some time," Moody guessed and Hermione nodded vehemently.

"I don't have enough money for all these things with me, though," Harry admitted with a slight frown. 

"You can just write a check," Moody harrumphed. "You're Harry Potter, every shopkeeper worth his salt knows that your family is filthy rich." 

"It's decided then!" Hermione was all giddy. "I've been looking forward to this for _ so _ long." 

"You and I will get along wonderfully," Moody told her and the both of them shared what Harry could only describe as shit-eating grins. 

Moody had him practice spells again until dinner and Hermione, who knew him way better, gave him some pointers for his casting that helped tremendously. He was sure by Moody's calculating gaze that he was watching their exchanges intently and cataloguing it for the future. 

When it was almost time to leave for dinner, Luna came up the stairs again and watched them for a while. As they were packing up, the small girl asked a question. 

"What is the first task about? Do you know?" 

"Dragons," Harry told her, trying to sound braver than he was. "But please don't go spreading that around." 

"Mhh," Luna agreed absent-mindedly. "Say, Harry, have you thought about simply _ talking _ to the dragons?" 

"What?" Harry looked at Luna for a moment, considering her strange words. Then, the sickle fell. "You think–?" 

Oh, wouldn't that be cosmic irony? Him being a bloody parselmouth and it potentially saving his life? 

"Dragons are not snakes," Moody told him. "There's so little knowledge about the Art, we should never rely on that. Especially since you have no way of testing it beforehand." 

"You should try it once at the beginning," Hermione suggested. "So it's Plan A but we'll have lots of contingency plans. Good thinking, Luna!"

The girl looked immensely pleased with herself and Harry wondered why a sweet girl like her should be so disliked by her own house. Well, thinking about it– he secretly considered himself a rather nice and sweet boy, too, and yet the student body hated him once again, this time for taking away the spotlight from Cedric. 

They'd have to stick together, then. A band of outcasts! 

With a grin, he joined Luna and Hermione on the way to dinner. To his surprise, instead of using the professors' entrance, Moody accompanied them as well. 

"No use hiding my involvement, lad," the grizzled auror told him with a shrug. "Dumbledore will know already that I'm helping you and the rest of the student body will catch on as well. These things have a habit of getting out so it's best to face them head-on." 

Harry thanked him profusely for his support and followed Hermione to the Gryffindor table. Apparently, Luna was joining them there, too and she looked very happy to eat in company. 

Moody was limping up to the head table and Harry could see many dark gazes looking back and forth between the two of them. 

"Oi, Potter, getting special treatment again!?" It was an older Hufflepuff who'd called out to him over the aisle separating their tables. 

Harry saw Cedric trying to shush what must have been a year mate of his but the other boy didn't stop glaring at him. 

"I told you guys, I never wanted to be in the bloody tournament," he spoke to the suddenly quiet Great Hall. "I don't care if I get points taken away for getting help– all I want to do is _ survive_!" 

With that, he shovelled vegetables, potatoes and a lean cut of meat on his plate. Instead of pumpkin juice, he chose water like Hermione did. Not caring about what his fellow students thought about the exchange with the Hufflepuff student, he started digging in. 

To draw his attention off of the stares, or maybe just because she felt like it, Luna began telling him a story about her last summer which she had spent chasing Quaffling Batarams– a magical variant of the armadillo which, when curled up, resembled a quaffle. She was very adamant that when Quidditch had first been invented, the Quaffling Batarams had been used as Quaffles which was where they'd originally gotten their name from. Apparently, she hadn't managed to spot one. 

Harry was unsure what to make of this information but was too glad about the distraction to care. 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Throwback to the beginning of Attack on Titan when Eren thinks the bullies run away because he threatens them when it's actually Mikasa running towards them with murder in her eyes. 
> 
> I do love vicious Hermione :D


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all are making my kokoro go dokidoki by liking this so much, you know?
> 
> Not complaining, just stating a fact <3

Harry had Defense the next day right after lunch and stayed behind, fidgeting with the strap of his satchel. 

Moody waited for everyone else to leave and shut the door with a flick of his wand. 

"What is it, lad? You haven't exactly been paying attention this class. What's wrong?" 

"It's the headmaster, Professor," Harry told him reluctantly. "Professor McGonagall told me after Transfiguration that he wants to meet me at 4pm today, so I can't come to our, uh, detention." 

"Is that so? Any idea what it's about?" 

"You helping me, I guess? Maybe he will ask me to stop accepting help from you?" 

"And what will you do if he does?" 

"I… will say yes and continue coming here anyway?" 

"Nice try," Moody replied with a bark of laughter. "However, how about I come with and tell him about that nice big bag of dicks I've been saving especially for him?" 

Harry couldn't stop the silly giggle from escaping his mouth and he felt the tight knots his stomach was in slowly loosening. 

"You would do that?" 

"That and more," Moody promised darkly. "Alright, any other classes left for you? No? Good, me neither. Just stay here, we'll study a little and then we'll go up there and raise a big stink." 

Harry nodded vigorously and got out the notebook Moody had asked him to start for their revisions. 

-o-

Dumbledore's office was exactly like Harry remembered it. Full of books and little whirring apparatuses and, of course, the man himself. 

The headmaster raised a white bushy eyebrow when he saw Moody enter behind him and elegantly got up from behind his desk. 

"Alastor, do you really think Harry needs protection from the student body on his way to my office? Tensions are running high, of course, but this is overdoing it a tad, don't you think?" 

"I didn't come to protect him from the student body," Moody replied easily. 

"Oh, so you just met on the way by chance?" The old man seemed mollified. "Well, why don't you wait outside for a moment and after my business with Harry is done, I will make time for you also." 

"Please, Albus, you know exactly why I'm here." 

"Very well, if you want to _be_ like that," Dumbledore sighed. "Harry my boy, do you know why I asked you to come here?" 

Not entirely happy to be addressed, Harry made a show of thinking hard. Moody had told him on the way not to look into Dumbledore's eyes because, apparently, he could _ read your mind _ if you did? He had been less than pleased upon finding out about that. 

"I'm not sure but I think it's about the tournament," Harry said to the window behind Dumbledore's back. "I hope you only want to wish me good luck but I'm afraid you want me to stop getting tutoring from Professor Moody." 

"Think of everything you've accomplished already, Harry," Dumbledore implored. "The spirit of Voldemort, the basilisk, a werewolf and an army of dementors– if anyone is able to do well in the tournament, it's you!" 

"Excuse me?" Moody's voice was dangerously low. "A basilisk? The spirit of Voldemort? Why did the DMLE never hear about any of that?" 

Since the first task was so close, Harry hadn't actually been able to hold up his end of the bargain and tell Moody about everything that had happened, he realised. He winced a little and was glad that the man's ire wasn't directed at him. 

"Now, Alastor, those were school matters, and in the school they should stay." 

"Yeah, no, I don't think so. Harry, we're going. We have a lot to talk about."

Harry looked at Moody with big eyes. Surely he was joking? Dumbledore hadn't dismissed them yet! But by then, Moody had already turned around and was stomping down the stairs in a huff. 

"Sorry, headmaster, good evening headmaster," Harry mumbled without looking at the man and chased after Moody. 

The auror was already limping down the corridor, grumbling to himself and he was doing the tongue thing again. 

"I don't know whether that was very brave or very foolish," Harry told him seriously. "Either way, I'm glad you're sticking up for me. It's a... a nice change." 

"We're eating dinner in my quarters, today. I will have you give me a brief overview over your first three years here." 

"Alright," Harry agreed. "But please remember– you might leave at the end of the year, but I'll be stuck here for three more afterwards. Please don't antagonise Dumbledore too much." 

"Laddie, I know no one told you about your options before, so hear me out," Moody countered and led Harry up the stairs towards his office. "You don't need to be here. You can always continue your education at Beauxbatons, Durmstrang, any of the American schools except the all-girl one or you can even be tutored at home and just take your O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s at the ministry. Stop _worrying_ about Dumbledore."

Stunned, Harry looked at him. "I have options?" 

His voice was frail. Had someone told him about that in his second year, he would have jumped at the chance to escape to somewhere else. Anywhere else! 

Moody deposited him in the chair he already almost considered his and had a house elf bring him a big mug of hot chocolate. 

"Drink that, lad, and when you feel like it, start telling me about your first three years." 

Moody started a fire in his fireplace that warmed Harry where he was cowering in his chair. While he nipped at his hot chocolate - why had Lupin never contacted him before or after third year, damn it? - Moody went to sit behind his desk and started marking essays. 

Harry didn't know how much time had passed until he found his voice. 

"In first year, Dumbledore hid the Philosopher's Stone here in school, guarded by a cerberus, a devil's snare and some other traps and challenges. Me, Ron and Hermione passed them all at the end of the year to stop Snape but it was actually Quirrell. Turned out, he was possessed by the spirit of Voldemort…"

-o-

Once he'd started, the words just came pouring out. He talked about seeing his parents in the mirror, about meeting Dumbledore there, Norbert, his experience in the Forbidden Forest– everything. He was surprised by how many close encounters and dangerous challenges he'd endured in just his first year alone. 

While he was talking, Moody had come around his desk and was sitting in the other armchair. The man wasn't looking at him, at least not directly, which Harry was immensely thankful for. He didn't like being looked at much, especially when he was talking. 

When he was done with first year it had taken way longer than either of them had anticipated and he felt strangely numb. 

"Not much help from your professors, was there?" 

Harry mutely shook his head. 

"Shame. Minerva shouldn't have brushed you off like that and don't even get me started on that traitor Snape letting out his frustrations on a boy whose only fault is looking a little too much like his father." 

Harry shrugged, not knowing what to say to that. It was the first time an adult had acknowledged Snape's behaviour towards him as wrong. 

"Snape can read your thoughts too, just like Dumbledore," Moody warned him. "All this time, he knew exactly that you're just a normal boy who isn't nearly as arrogant as his father and he used the fact that you're mellow and have no one to stick up for you to satiate some twisted desire to best his former nemesis. Despicable." 

Despite himself, Harry felt his eyes start to prickle. Surely he wouldn't cry again? He tried to take deep, measured breaths and concentrated on the flames dancing in the fireplace. 

"You've got me in your corner now, lad. At least as long as you want me." 

Harry looked at Moody, then, because the auror's voice sounded thick and kind of sad? He was taking a swig from his flask, as he so often did, and didn't return Harry's look. 

"I want you in my corner," Harry clarified. "That won't change." 

Moody snorted but nodded, hauling him up and guiding him towards the desk. A house elf brought them a supper consisting of a steamy stew with lots of veggies and buttered rolls and Harry was surprised to find that he was starving. 

-o-

When the morning of the first task dawned, Harry woke up with one goal and one goal only: survive. 

Together with Hermione, he'd spent the evening before in a disused classroom, charming his robes to be more fire-resistant so they wouldn't immediately go up in flame if he was hit. Shrugging them on after he was done in the bathroom, he was greeted by Hermione down in the common room. 

They went to breakfast together and met up with Luna on the Grand Staircase. A couple of contingency plans they'd devised had actually come from her and Harry was immensely glad to have stumbled upon the small girl by chance. 

Luna, for her part, was now even more carefree than before. Moody had gifted her with a lock for her trunk that would keep out anyone who shouldn't stick their fingers in her things. In her first week of using it, three Ravenclaw girls had been hospitalised with boils all over their body and swollen, purple tongues that made it almost impossible to breathe. 

After that, there had been no more attempts to take the girl's property. Harry snorted when he remembered how Luna had thanked Professor Moody: the man was now a dubiously proud owner of his very own string of used quill nubs which was, apparently, a great way of warding your written correspondence against Wrackspurt influence.

The Great Hall was still empty this early in the morning and Harry loaded his plate almost defiantly with porridge and pieces of fruit and ate until there was no space left in his belly. 

When he was done, the Hall had filled some more so he just kept on talking about his plans with Hermione and Luna. Soon enough Dumbledore and Moody descended from the head table and made their way for Cedric and Harry, respectively. 

The boys followed them out and into the antechamber Harry could remember from before the Sorting in his first year. 

"Your new glasses suit you, Harry," Cedric told him. The boy sounded nervous and Harry was relieved to engage in mindless chatter for a while. 

"Thanks, I thought I should try out something new," Harry answered. "Round and small was all my father but I never knew him– these ones are all Harry. I might even get my eyes corrected next year." 

The new frames were big and rectangular and he liked the way they made his face look more delicate in comparison. 

"It's a good change, even more so if it gives you confidence."

He hadn't told Moody, but he'd felt compelled to tell Cedric about the dragons. After all, Karkaroff and Maxime were definitely the type to tell their champions all they could. Since finding out Harry really didn't want to be there and was genuinely afraid for his life, Cedric had been loads nicer to him and had even tried to get the student body to stop wearing those ridiculous pins. 

Harry noticed that Dumbledore's expression had become pained once the two champions had started talking about Harry choosing to look like his own person and he was internally cheering. His opinion of the headmaster who hadn't added enough precautions to keep him out of the bloody tournament wasn't the best at the moment after all. 

He sidled up closer to Moody when the two other champions arrived with their headmaster and headmistress and listened with trepidation as hundreds of pairs of feet passed the room they waited in. 

"You gonna be alright, Potter?" 

It was always Potter when they weren't alone in Moody's office. 

"I really don't know," Harry admitted. "I'm hoping for the best." 

Moody grunted and clasped an arm around his shoulder as they made their way towards the Forbidden Forest. Harry was happy for the contact that grounded him while his nerves were busy tingling all over his body. 

At least the porridge was a comforting heavy weight in his belly. He swore to himself to eat more before Quidditch games should he still be alive to take part in them next year. 

Karkaroff and Maxime were both busy whispering to their students as they walked; only Cedric and Dumbledore were silently shuffling along next to each other. Harry tucked himself a little more firmly into Moody's side and thanked his lucky stars he wasn't in this alone.

-o-

Harry was third to face his dragon. Lady Fate was firmly in his camp today because it had been Krum who'd drawn the fearsome Hungarian Horntail. For a second there, he'd been completely sure that would have been his.

As it were, he was set to face the Chinese Fireball. He'd read extensively about dragons the last week and his heart started hammering in his chest when he remembered that Fireballs had very long bodies and extremely short legs– the most snake-like of all the dragons here. 

Maybe, just maybe, Plan A could work. And if not, he still had Contingency Plans B to G. 

The judges and Moody left them alone in the tent and the champions each kept to themselves. Harry went through all his plans again and saw from the corner of his eye how Cedric was silently moving his lips and practicing wand movements. 

Shortly afterwards, Cedric was the first to leave with muttered good lucks from his fellow contestants. Harry could hardly discern between the roars of the crowd and the dragon and was starting to feel a little sick.

In that moment, a little blue butterfly came flying into the open tent and sat down on his knee. Harry, Fleur and Krum eyed it curiously. When he looked towards the entrance, he saw Luna standing there in some distance. She grinned at him, gave him a thumbs-up and skipped away towards the arena. 

When she was gone, the butterfly flew up and exploded into a shower of red and gold sparks. Harry felt his heart lift. He didn't have many friends left, never really had many to begin with, but he was going to keep the ones he did have safe and happy. 

And he was going to survive. 

He wished Fleur good luck when she was called and started doing some simple stretching exercises Moody had shown him. If Plan A failed, he'd have to be quick on his feet and slipping because his muscles were stiff was a no-go. 

Finally, his name was called. He thanked Krum for wishing him good luck and then strode into the arena where the Chinese Fireball was waiting for him.

The roar of the crowd was deafening and Harry found himself annoyed. The situation was volatile enough as it was and they were screaming like a herd of hippogriffs! 

Irritated, he initiated phase 1 of Plan A. Focusing on the feel of his magic, he started waving his wand in an intricate manner and chanting a long incantation in Latin that Moody had taught him in two evenings' time. He managed to erect a privacy charm that enclosed almost all of the rocky terrain he and the dragon were standing in. 

Harry exhaled a great big breath when the noise from the crowd and Bagman's annoying commentary died down instantly and all he could hear was the dragon snorting and sniffing the air with its tongue in a promisingly snake-like manner. 

Next, he pointed his wand at his throat and called out "_Sonorus_!" 

He concentrated on the dragon's long, snake-like body and its tongue flicking out from time to time. When he felt ready, he opened his mouth again and hissed. 

"_Greetingss, dragon_!" 

The dragon's head shot up and its reptilian eyes instantly focused on Harry. 

"_Sserpent-child_," the dragon questioned in a heavy rumble that made Harry's heart miss a beat. 

It was hard to understand the Fireball, like listening to someone talk English with an accent that was so heavy that the words spoken became a caricature, but he _ could understand it_! 

He drew his wand up again which made the dragon crouch into a wary position. Instead of advancing, though, Harry conjured an image of a Chinese Fireball egg up into the air. 

"_Your egg_," he hissed, deciding to keep it as simple as possible. 

The dragon was eyeing the conjured image with a shrewd look before looking back to him. He saw that as his cue to go on. Raising his wand again, he looked at the huge nest the dragon was protecting and conjured another egg image into the sky– this one was golden. 

"_Wrong egg_." 

For a terrifying moment, the dragon simply stared at the images and Harry was already dreading having to start Plan B. Then, slowly, the dragon turned its head towards its nest and stuck its snout into it. 

A screech bubbled forth from the creature's throat and Harry watched with wide eyes as the dragon breathed a mushroom-shaped cloud of flame towards the dragon handlers waiting behind a barrier. There was a magical field that absorbed the fire but the dragon's attention was already back with its eggs. 

"_Wrong, wrong, baby, wrong_," he heard the creature hissing. 

He watched as the dragon gingerly rolled its real eggs towards one side of the nest, sniffed the golden one one last time and then gave it a great, resounding whack with its tail. 

The egg went sailing in a big arc towards Harry's right and he immediately started running to catch it since he had no idea how fragile it might be. Maybe it was important for being able to do the next task! Hermione had found out that they had often used the retrieval of important artefacts for the first task in earlier tournaments. 

The good news was that he (barely) managed to catch the egg before it landed on the ground. The bad news, however, was that he had had to leap. In the process, the surprisingly heavy egg landed in his outstretched hands only about an inch from the ground and crushed the bones in both of them upon impact with the rough stone. 

Harry grunted against the pain and felt tears starting to well up. His ribs were also sore from the fall and his knees were sure to be bloodied. 

Getting up regardless, he knelt next to the egg and made to grab it with his elbows, trying very hard not to look at his mangled hands and fingers in the process. Somehow, he managed to wrangle it up and pressed it to his chest with his forearms. 

Glancing back at the dragon, still watching him but making no move to close in on him, Harry turned towards the exit of the arena and started limping. With his concentration shot to shreds the privacy charm failed and the crowd was once again howling and snarling like a great beast.

He hated it. How did he ever like that when he played Quidditch? 

After what felt like an eternity, he crossed the exit line and the dragon handlers swarmed the arena. Poor dragon. But at least it would soon be home in the enclosure now that the first task was almost done. 

He almost cried when he saw Moody, Hermione and Luna waiting there for him. Luna took the egg when he handed it to her and Hermione and Moody each slipped under one of his arms and half-carried him to the infirmary tent. 

Cedric and Fleur were already there, both being seen to by Madam Pomfrey. 

"Of all the great beasts– dragons! What will they use next, _ nundus_!?" 

The medi-witch was furious and had his companions hustle him into a bed. After a quick scan, she tutted over him and started healing his knees and ribs immediately. 

"The knees were only badly scraped and two rips were partially fractured," she told him and sighed. "The hands are a lost cause, though. The bones are splintered and all over the place. I'm afraid I'll have to vanish them and you need to spend another night with your friend Skele-Gro." 

"Another night?" Moody looked at Harry dubiously. "What do they do with you here, lad?" 

Harry merely shrugged and watched impassively as Madam Pomfrey vanished the bones in his hands and fingers. Thankfully, the pain mostly stopped with that. 

"I'll only give you the potion once all this is done, dear," she told him and patted his arm. "Together with a nice dreamless sleep potion. No need to have you experience _ that _ while you're getting your points." 

"Thanks," Harry replied, looking down at his floppy hands. 

"You were very brave," Luna whispered from where she was still cradling the egg against her chest. It looked almost comically large in the slight girl's grasp.

"I'm so glad Plan A worked, in a way," Hermione gushed. "The implications of Dragons understanding Parseltongue! Everyone was wondering what you were doing, you know? But word soon spread when someone figured it out, so you'll probably have to deal with the press again tomorrow." 

"Tomorrow," Moody echoed, putting a big hand on Harry's shoulder. "But today is for rest. You did good, lad. Lean back now." 

Harry gladly leaned back into the soft pillows and realised that he was still alive. One down, two to go. He closed his eyes and merely concentrated on breathing for a while. Moody had shown him this rudimentary meditation technique and he used it to drown out the sounds of Krum facing the Horntail that came floating over towards the makeshift infirmary. 

A commotion outside the tent had his eyes fly open again after a short while. Moody and Luna were still sitting on a bench at his bedside but Hermione was blocking the entrance of the tent. 

"Absolutely not," he heard her say in a clipped tone. 

"Don't be like that, Hermione, let me through!" 

_ Ron_. Bugger. 

"He's hurt, leave him alone!" 

"Come on, it was mental what he pulled back there. No way did he want to do the bloody tournament voluntarily!" 

"Realised that now, have you?" Hermione's voice was still dangerously low. "He's resting and he's in good hands. When he's better, you guys can talk but for now, leave us alone." 

"It's us now, is it? What, the Prophet was right about you two?"

Ron's voice was agitated now. He looked over Hermione's shoulder and saw with a grin that Harry was awake and watching them. The boy carelessly shoved past Hermione and quickly jogged in their direction. Harry flinched back in distaste and worry. 

"Oi mate, that was–" 

He didn't get any further than that. Quick as a whip, Moody had drawn his wand and cast an overpowered "_Depulso_!" towards Ron. The boy flew back roughly ten feet, past Hermione who'd stumbled to the ground after he'd shoved her and out the open flap of the tent. 

He landed with a thud on the soft ground outside and made a weak groaning sound. 

"No means no, boy," Moody growled after him. "Consent– always an issue with teenage boys." 

Luna and Hermione giggled but Harry felt slightly sick as he watched Dean and Seamus help Ron to his feet. 

"I fear life in the dorm will be even less harmonious from now on," Harry sighed. "But he _ was _ being a right prat. Thank you, professor."

"My pleasure," the man grinned toothily. 

When he was on your side, Moody's effect on people was quite a boon, Harry realised. Once word got out just how far the man was willing to go to protect him, the tripping jinxes directed his way might actually stop. 

Before too long, Krum had returned unharmed and the champions were led before the judges. Luna and Hermione had taken the time to stuff Harry's hands into the pockets of his robes so they wouldn't flop about as much and he was very grateful for it. 

All four of the champions had managed to retrieve the egg but everyone but Krum had gotten injured in the process. Krum's dragon, on the other hand, had apparently trampled a couple of its own eggs because of a vicious curse he had used. 

All in all, the scores were about even. There were 50 possible points between the 5 judges and Fleur took the lead with 41 of them since she was only minimally hurt and no eggs had been squashed. Krum was second with 38 points because so many eggs being broken was a right shame and everyone knew it. Cedric and Harry who'd both been hurt pretty badly went home with 33 points each. 

Harry still felt pretty sore and was glad to have company on the long trek up to the castle. Hermione was carrying the egg now and Luna had her arms looped around one of his to steady him should he stumble. Madam Pomfrey had offered to float him up to the castle on a stretcher but he had felt like this was out of the question. 

He needed the exertion. He was alive, he'd survived the dragon. He'd _ spoken _ to it!

Maybe, just maybe, he really would make it out of the tournament alive. 

A small smile fought its way onto his face and stayed there right until he fell into a dreamless sleep after taking both his potions. 

  



	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, we have a gaggle of dorks doing dorky things. Thank you for your attention.

When Harry woke up again in the infirmary, he had no idea how much time had passed. There was light streaming in through the windows and Harry reached for his new glasses which should be somewhere on his nightstand. A hand gave them to him and Luna came into focus when he put them on. 

"Welcome back, Harry," she smiled. "It's Friday, the day after the task. Your hands are perfect again, Madam Pomfrey came by earlier to check one last time. 

"Great," Harry croaked and immediately reached for a glass of water on his nightstand. "Ugh, better. Good thing with the hands. What time is it? Shouldn't you be in class?" 

"Free period," Luna answered with a wink. "It's shortly before lunch. Professor Moody had a free first period and Hermione a free second period. It all worked out perfectly and now it's my turn." 

"What, I've always had someone sitting here?" 

"Yep," Luna replied, popping the 'p'. "You also have lots of cards and gifts." 

"Fair-weather friends," Harry found himself grumbling, eyeing the small mountain of gifts with distaste. "I couldn't walk through the halls without being shoved or hexed for 3 weeks and now I'm suddenly the golden boy again? I'm in last place, they should all be mad." 

"Maybe it's from the other schools' students," Luna shrugged. "Their way of thanking you for making it easy for _ their _ champions." 

Harry snorted at that. 

"As if," he muttered fondly. "Exactly how far away is lunch? I'm starving!" 

"Oh, it'll start any minute now. Professor Moody wanted to eat something and then relieve me of Potter duty. His words."

"Then we'd better get to the Great Hall soon to spare him the journey. No, wait, am I even allowed to leave? Having Madam Pomfrey float me back here during lunch would be a bit too much for my pride." 

"You may leave," Luna said and helped him to his feet.

Harry took a moment to steady himself and was relieved to find that he felt fine. Plucking the cards out among the sweets lest they should be by someone who actually cared, he left the rest behind. Maybe Madam Pomfrey would be able to give it to some sweet sick first year who'd never wronged Harry before. 

"I just realised, Luna," Harry said, stopping in his tracks shortly before they arrived at their destination, "I don't want to go into the Great Hall. They'll all stare at me! I don't want that right now. Bugger, I should have brought along some of the sweets." 

"We could go down to the kitchens," Luna suggested. "I eat there sometimes. The house elves are always very nice, even if they're controlled by the Rakatonian Rumdungers. They give me pudding even when it's not on the menu that day." 

"The what now?" 

"Pudding? Sweet dessert made from milk and sugar and–" 

"No, I, Luna, gah, I know what _pudding_ is. What are the Racketing whatevers?" 

"Rakatonian Rumdungers, but don't worry. I have my knitted sock with me at all times. Keeps them in check." 

She showed Harry a garishly pink knitted sock that looked wonky enough to be handmade. 

"Oh, right. Well. I always have socks with me too, so we should be fine." 

But when they turned to go down to the dungeon level at the foot of the Grand Staircase, Moody stepped out of a passage near them. 

"Not hungry then?" 

"Gah! Very, uh, very much so, actually," Harry replied after he got over his surprise, looking about himself. There were only a few students milling around but they kept glancing at him. "Just… not in the mood for the _ stares_." 

His expression must have been miserable enough for Moody to take pity on him. 

"Come on then, we'll eat in my office," the man offered. "What about you?" 

Luna hummed in thought but shook her head. "I should go check on Hermione, her wrackspurts need calming. She'll be glad to know Harry is awake. Thanks for the offer!" 

Without waiting for a reply, Luna skipped off humming a joyful tune. 

"What a weird little creature," Moody muttered, sounding quite unlike himself. "Well, nothing for it. Come on then, Potter, you know the way by now." 

-o-

The office was warm when they entered and Harry let himself sink into the chair opposite Moody's desk. 

"You can't always hide, you know? I won't let you eat dinner in here, too." 

"I'm just glad for the reprieve, professor," Harry sighed, taking care to look Moody in the eye. "Thank you for helping me with the first task; I really, _ really _ appreciate it. I hope you're not facing backlash because of it?" 

"Don't worry about me, Harry," Moody grumbled. "Those stuck-up so-called professors wouldn't recognise a student in need if he bled out all over them." 

"Glad about the Defense curse then?" Harry started digging into the plate a house elf had brought upon Moody's request. 

"A year of this is enough for me," Moody huffed in that rough laugh of his that Harry had quickly begun to associate with comfort. "I've still got more essays to read through than I care to even think about. This school needs more teachers. Don't know _ what _ Albus is thinking." 

Harry let Moody grumble in peace and watched the man pull a stack of essays towards him. As he was eating, Moody half-heartedly scrawled notes in the margins. 

"I have lots of essays to do this weekend," Harry offered when he was done. "Maybe I could do them here? If it doesn't bother you, that is. Might be nicer to work when there's someone else there? And I have terrible handwriting. I can probably help you when you can't decipher something!" 

Moody looked at him with a shrewd expression. 

"You don't need to sell yourself like that, Harry," the man told him. "There are people who will want to spend time with you simply in exchange for your presence– because they like it and it's enough for them. And yes, I would enjoy your presence while I slowly lose my mind reading the 6th year Gryffindor's essays."

Wow. Was that a thing he did? It probably was. Harry felt like an idiot and finished his meal in silence. He had never been happier about having a free afternoon to himself than right now. There was a lot of thinking to be done. 

When lunch period was almost over, Moody shooed him out of his office because he still had one period with his N.E.W.T. students left. Harry planned to use that time to gather his books and writing equipment and maybe put on some of the new clothes Hermione and Luna had gently bullied him into buying during the Hogsmeade weekend. 

He had to admit– it had been worth it for the new, comfortable underwear alone.

-o-

The common room was still pretty empty and Harry slunk up to the dorms immediately. 

No one was there yet, so he quickly opened his trunk to select some clothes to wear. It was a weird, happy feeling to be greeted by pretty fabrics and stylish cuts and not by Uncle Vernon's old socks and Dudley's grey hand-me-downs. 

Selecting a pair of dark trousers, a warm green jumper and a grey overrobe, Harry felt like a proper wizard. No wonder people like Malfoy had self-confidence to spare if it felt this good to wear well-tailored pretty clothes. 

The moment he was admiring himself in the mirror was, of course, the moment Ron, Dean and Seamus came into the dorm, laughing about something or other. 

"Oh look," Ron hissed with an unflattering expression when he saw him. "Seems like we're rid of Harry Potter and have a new transfer student. Must be one of Malfoy's cousins from the look of it." 

Seamus readily chuckled at that but Dean merely sighed. He'd always been a decent one, Dean. 

"Let him be," Dean said to Ron, shaking his head. "He's under enough pressure as it is. He doesn't need to be challenged in his own sleeping quarters." 

At that moment, Neville entered the dorm, too. He must have heard Dean's appeal because he was nodding. 

"I propose to declare our dorm room neutral ground," the boy suggested. "No arguments, no mean comments– just a place for sleeping and talking civilly. All in favour raise your hand." 

Dean and Neville immediately raised their hand and Harry followed suit. Seamus rolled his eyes but put his hands up, too, when Dean elbowed him in the side.

"Fine," Ron sighed, rolling his eyes as well. "No fighting in the dorm, get it. Probably better that way, too." 

-o-

So it was with a lighter heart that Harry knocked on Moody's office door after the man's lesson was over. 

Moody eyed him up and down when he opened the door and gave him a crooked smile. 

"So there _ is _ a real young man under there and not just three house-elves standing on each other's shoulders pretending to be the Boy-Who-Lived." 

Harry pushed past the man with a blush. "It's not my fault my relatives suck," he mumbled petulantly and felt silly while doing so. "And no one told me I could pay with a signature…" 

"It was a compliment, lad," Moody mollified him, "not an attack." 

"Sorry for snapping at you," Harry sighed. "I just had a confrontation of sorts in my dorm but we've agreed on a truce for now. Ron said, uh, he said I look like Draco Malfoy's cousin in these clothes." 

"He's a Weasley," Moody shrugged. "The nicest clothes he's ever possessed are the ones worn by only four brothers before him instead of five. You said yourself he's a jealous little bugger, didn't you? Well, there you are!"

"I guess," Harry acceded, feeling his shoulders droop a little. "You know, I'm a little afraid he's been keeping people away from me these past three years with his jealousy. He only ever wanted to hang out alone with me and I feel like not only did I miss out on more friendships, but also that the ship has now sailed because people have made their opinions about me."

"Nothing for it, lad. You either look elsewhere for friends or you keep wallowing in self-pity." 

"Or maybe I'll just stick with what I have," Harry grumbled, taking out his books and parchment. 

Moody let out one of his guffawing laughs and clapped him carefully on the back. 

"You do that, lad," he agreed, taking his seat behind his desk. 

They spent the time until dinner in companionable silence, with Harry silently mulling over lost opportunities and two-faced friends. 

-o-

"Dancing!" 

"What of it, lad?" 

"I have to dance! Dance! _ Me_! Open the bloody ball with the other champions, no less!" 

"The Yule Ball, yes, I _ had _ rather hoped they wouldn't have one with this tournament." Moody made a face. "No quiet time for us teachers to enjoy anything, you see? Not if we don't want a horde of babies crawling around here in 9 months time." 

"Oh," Harry said, rather unintelligently. "That… wouldn't be good. Would rather get in the way of O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s, babies, yeah? I'm not planning on doing any of _ that_." 

"So who are you taking? Ms. Granger or your delightful little blonde elf friend?" 

"The elf," Harry grinned, then faltered. "That is, at least I'm planning on it. I haven't asked yet and Hermione has already told me that she's going with _ Krum _ of all people! Apparently, under his gruff exterior, he's a right scholar at heart and they've been _ studying _together."

"He can't be lazy if he's been chosen," Moody shrugged. 

"_I've _ been chosen," Harry argued. "And before the tournament, I was _ very _ lazy with studying." 

"Well, do you know _ how _ you were chosen anyway if not for your extraordinary scholarly prowess?" 

That surprised the boy and he thought about it for a while.

"I… don't actually know. I have no idea how the goblet of fire works. Maybe I just assumed that someone put my name in and I was chosen as Hogwarts' second contestant? But that can't be right, the goblet would choose only one student per school and even if Hogwarts had two, it would have been another older student, wouldn't it?"

Moody merely looked at him with an impervious expression, urging him to go on by staying quiet. 

"Not Hogwarts then," Harry concluded– this whole deduction thing was getting easier the more time he spent in his new mentor's presence. "So I'm champion of… another school? But then someone must have charmed the goblet!" 

"Very good," Moody praised. "That's what Dumbledore thinks, too. We talked about it afterwards." 

"What!" Harry surged out of his chair in disbelief and anger. "He could have _ said _ something! The very next day at breakfast, he could have told everyone that I didn't do it myself! I could never have done such magic upon such an ancient artifact… He, he really doesn't care about _ me _ at all, does he? Only about the _ bloody _ Boy-Who-Lived."

Defeated, he slumped back into his chair and pressed his face into his hands. 

"I'm so stupid, stupid, stupid," he chanted, pulling at his hair as he did so. 

No sooner had he started chanting than he heard Moody laboriously getting up from his chair and limping over, only to pull him effortlessly up by his elbows and crush him into another hug. 

"There, there," Moody grumbled. "I know it's hard to find out your heroes might not be the Stalwart Protectors of all Things Good you thought they were, but I've always considered such things a challenge." 

"I've had enough of challenges for a lifetime," Harry mumbled when Moody let him go again. 

"You and I may not think too highly of Divination, lad, but you can't deny that you're marked by Lady Fate herself. There's only one way forward for you: preparation, preparation, preparation and CONSTANT VIGILANCE." 

Harry didn't even wince, this time, and Moody grinned broadly at him. Must have passed some kind of test, then. 

"Go find your little elf friend and ask her to the Ball, Harry. She'll cheer you up in no time, I'm sure of it." 

-o-

With Yule now only two weeks away, the atmosphere in the castle was beginning to get festive. Harry knew that Hogwarts had probably never been so full during a break before now and hoped desperately that it wouldn't be again for quite some time. 

He found Luna with the map, sitting in an alcove in a 4th floor corridor, drawing something in a notebook. Not wanting to startle her, he called out to the girl and she smiled happily when he walked up to her. 

"Hello Harry, how nice of you to visit," she greeted him amicably and patted the cushion in front of her. 

Harry sat down opposite her and leaned back against the stone. Either Luna had brought along the comfortable cushions they were sitting on, or she'd conjured them. Conjuring was pretty advanced magic but in the short time he'd known her, Harry had found out that Luna knew her way around with a wand. 

"The view is nice," Harry told her approvingly, looking out of the window that reached as high as the top of the alcove. "I can see why you enjoy sitting here. But doesn't it get cold after a while?" 

"I'm not bothered much by the cold," Luna shrugged easily, leaning back over her notebook. 

"Actually, Luna, there was something I've been wanting to ask you," Harry said with a strangely heavy tongue.

"You look nervous," Luna realised worriedly. "Did someone hex you? I can set some Nargles on their stuff if you want. I might have caught some under a shoe back in the dorm but I daren't look in case they run away." 

"Wh- no, nothing like that, don't worry. It's just, uh, me being worried about what I'm going to ask you. So you know there's a Yule Ball this holiday, yes?" 

"Only _ everyone _ has been talking about it," Luna replied with an exasperated smile. "I'm a third year, though, you'll have to tell me all about it the next day." 

"That's just the thing," Harry said and steeled his nerves. "I was wondering whether, maybe, you would consider coming along as my date? Only as friends, if that's alright, but I'd love to go with you nonetheless!" 

Luna looked at him with her mouth frozen into a ridiculous 'O' expression but Harry didn't feel like laughing. 

"You don't have to, of course," he quickly added, chagrined. 

"Oh, but I'd so love to come as your friend date, Harry. Really, I would! It's just, no one has ever asked me along to _ anything _ of the sort." 

Luna climbed out of the alcove, walked over to his side and pulled him into a sideways hug that he returned with a big smile. Maybe the ball wouldn't turn out to be quite the disaster he'd thought it would be. 

-o-

It would turn out to be an utter disaster. After having stepped on Hermione's toes for the fourth time, Harry excused himself and stepped off the dance floor where their fellow Gryffindors were awkwardly shuffling around with members of the opposite sex. 

"I'll have to give Luna steel-capped boots, Hermione," he whined as the girl followed. "And to think that I'll have to open the ball and have everyone watch me? It's a disaster!" 

"Quit being melodramatic," Hermione admonished him and added in a quieter voice: "I'll have to open the dance just as much as you– I need all the practice I can get and the other boys aren't exactly lining up to dance with me so you will get your head out of your bum and _ dance with me, Harry Potter_." 

Not about to face the fury of a witch scorned by an unwilling dance partner, Harry grit his teeth and soldiered on. 

"This might be exactly the opposite of what you need, Harry, but…" Hermione took a deep breath and continued. "This dance floor is now a Quidditch pitch. I am your broom. The snitch is _ always _ on the other end of the dance floor and you can only cross it by following the right steps, aka doing the right flying maneuvers. Please don't make me repeat that." 

Harry's eyes widened. He could do complicated flying maneuvers– what was so different and difficult about doing some measly _ steps_? On the _ ground_, no less. Ha! 

With renewed confidence and a will to learn, Harry started leading Hermione across the dance floor. Suddenly, Fred and Angelina became an enemy Bludger trying to strike at his head and he swerved his broom/Hermione to get out of the way only for Dean and Parvati to turn into the enemy Seeker trying to overtake them to reach the Snitch first! 

It wasn't perfect, not by a long shot, but they actually moved and he hardly stepped on Hermione's toes, now that they actually had somewhere to go instead of shuffling around in one place. 

"You're such a jock," Hermione joked afterwards and Harry only laughed along with her, way too relieved to be affronted. 

-o-

"How far along are you with the Golden Egg?" 

It was the middle of December now and Moody and Harry still met on the weekends to do their work together. The more vigorous training regimen would restart closer to the second task which was scheduled for February 24th.

"Well, I did try to open it," Harry defended himself immediately. "There was this horrid screeching sound so I closed it again. Everyone in the boys' dorms was very cross with me after that." 

"I see," Moody replied with a dark chuckle. "What else are you going to try?" 

"I'm not sure, really. I was thinking of asking Professor Sprout for a pair of the ear protectors we used for cultivating Mandrakes but ever since my name came out of the Goblet, well… Cedric is one of her 'Puffs." 

"What would you do with the ear protectors? Look at the egg in peace?" 

"Yeah, I was planning on taking it somewhere remote or erecting a privacy spell and just look at it. It _ looked _ empty but I was stressed, then, and maybe there's something hidden." 

"Not a bad idea, lad, not bad at all. Unfortunately, that's not the solution. If you can give me two more good ideas, I'll give you a clue for the actual solution." 

"Right," Harry agreed with a grin, thinking. "Another idea I had was to heat it up really hot? I mean, it's what you do with eggs, it sounds like a tea kettle and they hid it with dragon eggs which are notoriously kept very warm."

Moody's eyebrows crept up his forehead. "Also wrong, but no less impressive. One more good idea, lad, what have you got?" 

"That's it for now. My next step, if both of these failed, would have been asking Hermione or Luna for ideas. Oh, but I could try to think _ like _ Hermione or Luna, I suppose! Hermione would tell me to look up magical eggs in a book or, magical… tongues! Wait! Wait, what if it's actually a language! I mean, Parseltongue sounds weird to everyone but me, well, and Voldemort of course, so maybe there are other languages like that?"

"Ha, I knew you had it in you!" Moody bellowed in triumph. "You're very close, so here's my hint: water." 

"Just water?" Upon Moody's nod, Harry thought about what languages could only be heard in water. "Well, it would have to be here at Hogwarts, so there's the Black Lake, of course. In the lake, we have… the Giant Squid, grindylows, lots and lots of fish and– bugger. The merpeople." 

Moody nodded sagely, a big grin on his face. "The merpeople. Everything else, we'll deal with once you've heard what the egg has to say. You'll need to listen to it underwater as you've understood by now and students only have showers. There is the Prefect's bathroom but with everyone staying here over the holidays because of the ball, you'd have to go in the middle of the night which is risky."

Harry nodded along, tight-lipped. He trusted Moody a lot by now but he didn't want him to know about the Map or his Cloak yet. 

"I have an offer," Moody began haltingly and his tongue slipped out again nervously, "but if you think it's… weird, just say no. Every teacher has a private bathroom and we actually do have tubs. So if you want to avoid having to break into the Prefect's bathroom, I would allow you to use the tub in my personal bathroom during the break." 

"Oh sure, that would be brilliant," Harry answered easily. "Less rule-breaking means fewer detentions with Snape. I'm all for that!" 

"He does like putting his big nose where it doesn't belong, doesn't he?" Moody sighed and leaned back in his chair. "We'll take care of his attitude towards you sometime next year." 

Harry nodded enthusiastically and spent the next couple minutes imagining Moody scolding a contrite and fearful Snape. Not likely but nevertheless incredibly amusing.

  
  
  



	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Christmas in Hogwarts and Harry gets one present more than he expected <3

Harry spent Christmas Eve with Moody and Luna. 

They'd invited Hermione but she'd begged off, citing prior appointments. When Harry had asked about Krum's involvement in those, the girl had blushed furiously and batted at his arm. Since he was no Ron, Harry merely congratulated her on being close to the stoic Bulgarian, wished her luck and urged her to be safe while out and about. Apparently, that had been enough to warrant a big hug he'd gladly accepted. 

With how many hugs he'd been getting lately, even if only by the same people, Harry felt he had started getting quite proficient at them and didn't dread them as much. In fact, he was looking forward to them. 

When the three of them were on their third round of Exploding Snap - Moody was surprisingly good at the game - a sharp knock rattled the door. Harry prayed to whoever was listening that it wasn't a distraught Hermione looking for comfort. 

"Come in," Moody drawled and Harry instantly relaxed. 

His professor didn't sound worried and he must have already been able to see through the door who it was. 

"Alastor," Professor McGonagall greeted upon entering. "Mr. Potter, Ms. Lovegood. I hope I'm not interrupting anything?" 

Harry realised they must look somewhat silly– him and Luna sprawled on big fluffy cushions Moody had conjured for them and the man himself sitting cross-legged on an even bigger one. And with his artificial leg taken off and leaning next to him, no less! (Moody had shared that it started to chafe after a while and the two students were quick to assure him that they didn't mind either way.) 

"Not at all, Minerva," Moody replied with a toothy smile. "Would you care to join us? I'm teaching these two young'uns how to play like proper wizards and witches." 

"No, thank, you, Alastor," Professor McGonagall declined, with a smile that seemed rather strained. "I merely came to inform you that Professor Dumbledore has requested your presence to go over the security details for tomorrow evening once again." 

"And you're his owl? I've gone over the security with him more times than I care to even think about. If he wants me to walk him through it _ again_, and on Christmas Eve to boot, I shall be here, in my quarters, doing revelry with some of my favourite students. He knows where to find me."

"About that, Alastor," McGonagall started awkwardly, with a Look, capital L, towards Harry and Luna, "we try to be as unbiased here at Hogwarts as possible. No favouritism, no special treatment and-" 

"Kindly take this sentiment to the dungeons, Minerva," Moody practically hissed. "I bet your resident Potions Master might benefit from the lecture. As it stands, I'm paying attention to two brilliant students who have thus far been neglected by Hogwarts staff and will continue to do so for the rest of the school year. Merry Christmas!" 

McGonagall blustered for a moment and Harry was sure she was about to retort something. But then, her gaze fell on him and Luna who were watching the exchange anxiously and her expression became pained.

"I shall inform the headmaster of your decision, Alastor. A Merry Christmas to you three."

When she had left, the three were quick to agree that it wouldn't take Dumbledore long to come a-knocking next. It was Luna who won the betting pool of three chocolate frogs when a booming knock sounded on the door during their next round. 

After Moody had bid him enter, the old man let his gaze wander over the scene, raising an eyebrow at Luna who was triumphantly holding her bounty of chocolate frogs to her chest. 

"Alastor, Minerva has informed me that you were indisposed to go over the security details," he started, his eyes resting on the deck of cards. "And now I see you are merely playing games with underage students?" 

Harry thought it was a testament to Moody's restraint that he only shrugged. 

"If you tell me where in my contract it says that I'm required to follow your every whim and fancy, on _ Christmas Eve_, I may add, I will gladly do my duty," the auror growled in a tone that was as saccharine as it was lethal. 

"I had thought that with your background, you of all people should be happy to be once again assured that no ill will befall us tomorrow." 

"I am already sure of that, seeing as I've devised _ all the plans myself_, headmaster. If that is all? I am most definitely winning this round - again - and I'd hate to lose my flow." 

"Harry my boy," Dumbledore said then, turning to him next. "Wouldn't you rather spend the evening among people your own age? It saddens me to see that you and Mr. Weasley have parted ways." 

"I'm the happiest I've ever been right now," Harry replied and felt his heart soar when he realised it was true. "I don't have many people left because of the whole tournament business but I've found my solace in quality over quantity." 

Dumbledore looked very sad when he had finished but Harry couldn't find it in himself to care. He idly wondered who Dumbledore spent Christmas Eve with. Snape, maybe?

"As you wish," Dumbledore sighed with the kind of weariness only the very old could possess. "A Merry Christmas to you, Harry. Ms. Lovegood, Alastor." 

When the old man shut the door with a noise that was a little louder than it ought to have been, Harry felt quite like it was a metaphor for a door falling shut in his relationship with Dumbledore. He hardened his heart against the regret and longing that threatened to creep up on him and took a long sip from his hot cocoa to soothe his nerves. 

It wasn't his fault Dumbledore had never _ really _taken an interest in him. If even his old friends like Moody thought he was in the wrong then there must be something to it, right? After all, all Harry had ever wished for was a family and he didn't see Dumbledore providing or even facilitating that anytime soon. 

As his attention reverted back to Moody's office, he became aware that Luna and the professor were waiting for him. 

"Sorry," he mumbled bashfully. "I was lost in thought there for a moment." 

"We're just glad to have you back, Harry," Luna smiled serenely, gently patting the back of his hand.

Moody, meanwhile, was looking at him with one of those strangely calculating looks he sometimes wore before giving him a big grin that stretched the unsightly scars on his face. 

"You're a good lad," the auror told him. "You'll be fine, I'll make sure of it." 

Harry found that he believed him without reservation and allowed himself to hope. 

-o-

The next morning, he was surprised to awake to the sight of a humble pile of presents on his bed. Having access to as much money as he wanted since figuring out how to pay by cheque, Harry immediately wondered what his friends thought of the gifts he'd bought them via owl-order and on Hogsmeade. 

Hermione had gifted him with a bracelet, of all things. Her card told him that the oiled, shining piece of wood in the middle of it was functioning as a runestone and that she'd carved it herself to protect him from those who'd do him harm. Self-consciously, she'd added that he could of course also wear it around his ankle so no one would see. 

Next was Luna's. The first part was a picture she'd drawn herself in a frame with a blue butterfly sitting on it that would fly around if you looked at it for too long. The picture showed a watercolour rendition of a stag, a rabbit, a coyote and an otter. The stag was either his father or his patronus but he didn't know who or what the other animals were supposed to represent. He'd have to ask her.

The second part was an absurd pair of glasses with huge frames decorated with glitter and other unspeakable things. There was no card, so he really didn't know what to make of that but he simply added it to the list of questions. 

There was also one from Sirius who was still relaxing and healing somewhere warm and dementor-free on offshore Black money. Fortunately, his godfather was content with having Moody help him and provided support and advice from whatever tropical paradise he had travelled to. When he'd unwrapped the present, Harry couldn't hide a grin. Sirius had gotten him a new satchel lined with mokeskin– ridiculously expensive but he _ had _ lamented in a letter to his godfather how his bag seemed to grow ever fuller with books and other equipment with every passing school year. 

There were three left now and none of them looked like a patented Weasley sweater so Mr. and Mrs. Weasley must have followed in Ron's footsteps. Harry felt guilt and a sense of longing lodged behind his throat but forced himself to swallow it down. There was nothing for it if they were so quick to cast him away. 

Hagrid's present was the tiny figure of the Chinese Fireball he'd drawn out of the bag during the First Task and Harry giggled with delight. He hadn't known what had happened to it and watched in awe as the tiny dragon curled up in his hand and fell asleep.

The second to last one was from Moody. Harry hadn't been sure he'd get one from the auror but immediately felt silly. Of course Moody would have gotten him something! It was still hard to acknowledge that he had an adult firmly rooting for him but he vowed to get used to it to show Moody that he appreciated it.

Like any good auror would, Moody had gifted him with a proper wand holster and he immediately put it on under his (new, silk) pyjamas. With a flick of his wrist, his wand shot out and landed on his mattress. Cursing under his breath, Harry put it back into the holster and tried again. On the fourth try, he got it for the first time and after ten further attempts he got it every second time. 

Satisfied with his progress, Harry inspected the last present. He had no idea who it could be from. Maybe Hermione's parents had gotten him something? A late sign of life from Professor Lupin? 

With curiosity thrumming in his veins, Harry tore through the expensive-looking silver wrapping paper and was confronted with a non-descript cardboard box. Opening it, he only saw black fabric and carefully lifted whatever it was out of the box. 

It turned out to be a robe made of what Harry had learned to identify as Acromantula Silk. He wondered who would send him clothes of all things when he suddenly realised that there were tiny markings in silver thread all over the black fabric. 

Upon closer inspection, he realised they were runes! He hadn't the faintest idea what they meant or how they worked but he'd watched Hermione draw enough runic arrays to identify them as such. 

His fingers caressed the rich fabric and the dainty silver thread and wondered who would gift him something so exquisite. Was it Dumbledore again? An offering of friendship? He looked into the box for a clue and, indeed, there was an envelope of creamy, thick paper addressed to him at the bottom. 

_Dear Harry, _

_ You shall learn my identity soon enough– patience_

_ For now, I will have you wear this for the Third_ _Task so you may be protected until we meet. _

_ I am looking forward to properly making your acquaintance. _

_ Merry Christmas, _

_ A Friend _

It certainly wasn't the headmaster's loopy handwriting. A friend? He supposed he _ could _ always use more of those, especially when they were in the habit of handing out extremely useful presents. He'd let Hermione and probably also Moody take a look at the robes later; maybe they'd be able to tell him more about what the runes actually _ did._

But for now, Harry was puzzling over the handwriting. There was an itch at the back of his head telling him he'd seen it before, but the more he thought about it, the more the memory slipped away, so he let it go. If the card was true, he'd know soon enough. Maybe his friend wanted to reveal themselves after the third task? 

He took some time to fill his new mokeskin bag with his presents and all the essentials like the Map and his cloak, some writing equipment and other odds and ends and made his way to the Common Room after he'd gotten washed and dressed. 

It was already later than when he normally went down and there was an excited hustle and bustle going on. Harry realised that it had indeed gotten rather late, yesterday. Still, drinking tea and hot cocoa and eating an ungodly amount of sweets with Luna and Moody had been a perfect excuse for a late night. 

He surveyed the room in search of Hermione but couldn't find her so he decided to go eat some breakfast. 

The Great Hall was probably the fullest he'd ever seen it during the Winter break and because he couldn't see Hermione's wild hair here either, he made for the Ravenclaw table where he'd spotted Luna munching on some vanilla pudding with strawberries. 

"Morning, Luna. Sleep well?" 

"Yes, thank you, Harry," she answered. "It was nice of Professor Moody to see me back to Ravenclaw Tower. He was a Hufflepuff, did you know that? He has some trophies in the trophy room of the school but he knew his way to the tower really well. He must have had many Ravenclaw friends back then." 

"Well, he _ is _rather smart," Harry shrugged, tucking in hungrily. "Luna, I know it's a little late, but what colour is your dress for tonight?" 

"Oh, how nice of you to ask," Luna asked, her perpetually surprised look strangely apt this time. "It's a lovely silver fabric that sparkles in all the colours of the rainbow when the lights hit it. My daddy gave it to me. He was very sure someone would ask me to the ball and I don't question him on these things." 

"I was asking because someone gave me these robes for christmas that are actually meant for the third task but I like them better than the festive ones Mrs. Weasley got me without my input." 

"Someone? Meaning you don't know who?" 

"No idea, they said they were a friend and that I would know soon enough."

"Then you should wear them," Luna said with a huge smile. "There'll be lots of photographers, yes? Maybe the someone will see their present on the front page of the Prophet and be happy?" 

Harry grimaced. "You think I'll make the front page again?" 

"Oh certainly, Harry. The Prophet loves to hate you, after all." 

"Huh, yeah. Haha, I guess they do." 

-o-

His new robes fit surprisingly well. They were just a smidge too long and his shoulders were a little less broad than the robes were intended for but he guessed (hoped) he'd grow into them. Already, he'd started gaining weight and a little mass and didn't feel like, well, like three house elves posing as the Boy-Who-Lived anymore. 

Taller than he usually was thanks to a new pair of dragonhide boots he'd gotten in Hogsmeade that had a little more heel than strictly necessary, he felt confident to open the ball. If only the hair would– no. The hair would stay like that. No way would he get up half an hour earlier every day. He didn't want to know what he could look like if he made the effort. 

With the new robes, the runic threads shimmering in the light, the polished boots and his stylish glasses Harry decisively nodded at his own reflection. Let the Prophet say about him what they would, at least he looked the part of a Champion now.

The last accessories he put on were Hermione's bracelet which he snaked around his ankle and the wand holster that went around his right arm. 

A little earlier so he could find out where the champions were supposed to meet, Harry made his way towards the Great Hall. He soon located Luna and her dress looked every bit as sparkly and rainbow-y as she'd promised. It was a bit much, certainly, but he found himself grinning. 

"You look amazing," he told her. "I like the hair, especially. It suits you, done up like this." 

"I'm sorry, mysterious stranger," Luna said with a small smile and turned away from him. "I'm waiting for my friend date Harry Potter who is very nice just like you but certainly not as polished as you are." 

"In his absence, may I escort you to the ball?" He held out his hand and after some consideration, she took it. 

"He can't fault me for abandoning him for someone looking like _ you_, I guess." 

They both giggled and made their way through the slowly gathering crowds, looking for McGonagall or any of the other champions. Meeting up with Cedric and Cho, they were soon joined by Fleur and her date, Ravenclaw Quidditch captain Roger Davies. 

"Looks like all the champions so far know the value of House Ravenclaw," Cedric grinned and the nervous tension abated a little. 

"I wonder if Krum also asked a Ravenclaw, but I haven't heard any of the girls gush about it," Cho smiled and clung to Cedric's arm. 

"He asked a Gryffindor, actually," Harry told them. "And there they are!" 

Like him, Hermione had undergone quite the transformation and looked stunning with her wild hair slicked and tamed into a beautiful plait that hung over her shoulder. 

"Is that Hermione?" Cho looked incredulous but soon, a grin spread over her face. "Well, she should have been a Ravenclaw by all accounts, so I'm declaring this a win for the ravens anyway."

While the other students were let into the Great Hall, the champions and their dates waited with McGonagall. 

Finally walking into the packed hall with Luna at his side, Harry forced his nerves down. Luna was the broom. This was the Quidditch Pitch. The Snitch was _ way _ over there and both Cedric and Krum were also Seekers so he couldn't let his guard down.

"We got this, Harry," Luna calmed him and patted his shoulder where her hand rested. "I'll be the best broom." 

Harry frowned. He'd been pretty sure he hadn't shared Hermione's advice with anyone but before he could ask, the music started and they were off. 

Dancing with Luna was easier than dancing with Hermione. Luna followed his direction more and seemed to sway as one with the music where Hermione had been as rigid as him, focusing intently on the steps and resisting him when she wanted to move in another direction as him. 

He could even let his gaze sway over the crowd and the other champions and felt ten different kinds of relieved when he realised that he wasn't making an ass of himself after all. 

When the rest of the student body was allowed on the dance floor after the first dance, Harry and Luna made their way to the sidelines. 

"I'm so glad this is over," Harry grinned. "I didn't step on your feet once! This is brilliant!"

"You were a good flyer," Luna agreed distractedly. 

Harry joined her in letting his gaze wander over the crowds. He felt the slightest bit vindicated when he spotted Ron - sans date - across the hall in the garish maroon dressrobes Mrs. Weasley had procured for him. That only went to show that it didn't pay to be a prat. 

At least that's what he told himself until a head of blonde hair and a dreadful dark ponytail swept past them, circling on the dance floor. Malfoy and Parkinson, never tiring of trying to get a rise out of him when given the slightest chance. He was sure they were going to get their comeuppance one of those days. Maybe he'd be the one to hand it to them. 

"You're thinking too much, Harry," Luna said and he sighed. "Let's eat something." 

When Dumbledore, Karkaroff and Maxime seated themselves on the raised dais in front, the champions and their dates followed suit. Luck, or maybe Hermione's stubbornness, had it that Luna and him ended up on one side with Hermione and Krum instead of one of the other couples. 

"You are Hermione's friend, yes?" Krum eyed him and for a moment Harry thought this was going to be a jealousy thing. "You must call me Viktor, then. She talks about you a lot." 

"Oh, yes, sure, if you will do me the honour of calling me Harry," he quickly replied and shook the boy's (man's?) hand. "I don't believe you've met each other, but this is my good friend Luna Lovegood, she's a Ravenclaw."

The two shook hands and Krum, Viktor!, cocked his head to the side. 

"I think this means nothing to you Hogwarts students but there are no Wrackspurts around your head, Luna," Viktor said. 

Hermione looked scandalised, Luna looked delighted and Harry shook with silent laughter so hard he actually started tearing up. 

What followed during dinner was a short summary of Durmstrang's curriculum, including an overview of Magical Cryptozoology which, apparently, was an elective from year three onwards. 

Harry watched Hermione drink her butterbeer a little faster than usual and found himself snickering when Luna and Viktor started swapping theories and stories of sightings over dessert. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Viktor Krum is a BIG ASS NERD and no one can convince me otherwise.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm way ahead again, chapter-wise, so keep an eye out for another update this week <3

It was cold outside and the snow made delightful little crunching sounds under their boots. Harry had fled from the Great Hall with Luna after one too many girls had started trying to squeeze herself in between them and ask him for a dance. 

"I don't understand why they're all suddenly throwing themselves at me," Harry lamented to a humming Luna. "Do they really want to be on the front page that much?" 

"Oh!" With that, Luna was off. She procured a glass jar from practically nowhere, whipped it around in the air a couple of times and did a little happy dance once she'd screwed the lid back on. "Look!" 

"A… beetle?" 

"Look at the _ markings_," Luna told him in an ominous voice. 

"They look very, I don't know, unusual? What am I looking at?" 

"It might be… a Rakatonian Rumdunger! Do you have your socks with you?" 

"Yee-es. Why are you looking at me like that? Do you actually want me to check? Alright, alright. Yes, I do, in fact, still have my socks on."

"Good, hold this," Luna commanded and pushed the glass jar into Harry's hands. 

She fished the hideous pink sock out of some hidden compartment in her dress, took a deep breath, unscrewed the lid, threw the sock in and screwed it back on. 

"Is it still there? I'm so excited, I can't look!"

"Yes, it's, it's still there. I'm… sorry?" 

Luna exhaled a big breath she'd been holding and deflated a little. 

"Well it was a long shot anyway," she shrugged, defeated. "Better let that beetle fly again." 

While Harry was debating whether to just let the beetle fly or humour Luna a little more, there were uneven steps from behind them which had Harry turn around immediately. In one hand, he still held the glass jar, but the other was clutching his wand, freshly sprung from its holster. 

"I see you like your Christmas present," Moody grinned at him, pulling him into a one-armed hug. "But what are you two doing out here among the bushes? Patrolling or gallivanting?" 

"Neither," Luna told him disappointedly and pointed to the glass jar. "Harry didn't like the girls eyeing him like a piece of meat so we went out here to get some fresh air. I thought I saw a Rakatonian Rumdunger but the sock didn't bother it so it's _ probably just an ordinary beetle_." 

Moody had stopped laughing about Luna's theories after two days of getting to know her and silently reached for the glass jar. His eyes widened a little when he saw the beetle and Harry wondered what it was he'd seen. 

"This might be a Rakatonian Rumdunger after all, Luna," he said with a gleeful expression. "Some have grown immune against the socks so I'd have to do further tests to be sure. Do you mind if I borrow the jar and the beetle?" 

"Oh, go ahead," Luna urged him on, delighted once more. "I didn't know you were a Magical Cryptozoologist, Professor Moody." 

"Look, why don't you call me Alastor when we're amongst ourselves, Luna? And what did you think of this and the other hunting accessories I got you?" 

Harry frowned when he realised that Moody was changing the subject but he didn't want to spoil Luna's excitement. 

"They're ever so practical," Luna told Moody solemnly. "Maybe I will return with some special specimens to Daddy this year." 

"Oh that reminds me, Luna," Harry said. "I liked the picture and the glasses very much, but I have a couple questions if you don't mind? What… exactly do the glasses do, for one?" 

"You'll like them," Luna promised. "Alastor helped me with them– they're charmed like a light version of his funny eye and can help you see through traps and doors and stuff like that. But don't you do anything naughty with them, Harry Potter." 

"Wicked! And I wouldn't dream of it, Luna. Next, about the picture… the stag is my patronus, I guess? But what about the others? An otter, a rabbit and a… coyote, was it? Who do they represent?" 

"I dreamed about them," Luna smiled. "They were all having fun together and the rabbit told me that they should always be friends so I immortalised them." 

"Maybe the rabbit is _ your _ patronus," Harry theorised. "What's your patronus, professor?" 

"It's Alastor, lad," Moody, Alastor, reminded him. "And it's a honey badger. Good patronus for a Hufflepuff, if I may say so myself." 

Alastor sounded a little unsure but maybe that was because he wasn't part of the picture after all. 

"Don't be sad, Alastor," Luna consoled him and patted his arm. "Maybe you'll be in my next dream." 

Alastor huffed a laugh and nodded. He turned to Harry and made as if to say something but nothing came out. Both his eyes were fixated on him, mustering him from head to toe. 

"You didn't get these robes in Hogsmeade, Harry," Alastor said with a warning note in his voice. 

"Uh, no, you're right," he grinned. "They're a Christmas present from… a… friend…? Why are you looking at me like that?" 

"A friend? What kind of friend? Tell me!" 

"Look, I don't know who it is, what's wrong?" 

"You're wearing _ heavily warded rune-embroidered robes sent to you by a secret admirer whose identity you don't know and you ask me what's wrong_!?" 

"That is very advanced magic, Harry," Luna told him, leaning forward to touch the silver thread. "These must have cost a fortune so your new friend must be very rich." 

"Or someone well-bred enough to have access to copious heirlooms," Alastor pressed out through gritted teeth. "Next time before putting on potentially dangerous gifts by people unknown, you will come see me. Have I made myself clear?" 

"Crystal," Harry replied with his head hanging. 

"Now look, lad, I'm not trying to spoil your fun here but anyone could have sent them and with a nasty curse to boot. A Dark Wizard, for example!"

Harry didn't like the thought of that much and he nodded again. 

"There was a note, too. Look," Harry suddenly remembered, put his whole arm into his new bag and handed Alastor the creamy parchment he'd received together with the robes. "I feel like I know that handwriting, have you seen it before maybe?" 

Alastor paled so much that his skin was the same colour as his scars. Even his magical eye stopped whirring around. 

"Do you want me to get you a drink from your flask, Alastor? You look a little peaky," Luna asked, cocking her head. 

She made to reach for the pocket where the man kept his flask but he gently caught her hand and shook his head. 

"No, that's quite alright, Luna," he refused with a soft voice. "May I have this note for a while, Harry? I'm afraid there's a compulsion charm on this paper but I'd have to check to know for sure." 

"I, uh, sure. Yeah, why not." Harry kept himself from frowning. This was getting really weird. "I'm sorry, I didn't want to worry you like that. I just liked the robes so much, you know?" 

"Ah, lad, youth is folly. I wasn't born an experienced wizard, no one was. But I'll help you become one." 

"Did you have help becoming one, too?" 

"Yes, Harry. Yes, I did," Alastor said with a fond smile. "One of the greatest wizards there is. He's quite reclusive nowadays, but maybe I will take you to meet him one of those days. If you want me to, that is." 

Harry nodded eagerly. 

"Alas, I shall have to continue my rounds. Preventing the Yule babies and all that. Be good." 

Harry and Luna watched Alastor limp towards the carriages and hedges. 

"You know, if they didn't want students alone and unsupervised out here, I do wonder why they supplied the carriages for the ball," Harry mused. 

Luna put a finger to her chin in thought. "Maybe it's to keep people like Snape and Filch busy so they don't ruin the ball with their scowling because nobody loves them?" 

Harry was dumbfounded and started giggling. Luna's deadpan delivery only made the viciousness behind it even more hilarious. 

"Never change, Luna Lovegood, never change," he wheezed and led her over to the hedges and the tiny little fairies hiding therein. 

While Luna observed and studied them, Harry watched the other students who were milling around outside. There was Malfoy with Parkinson, discreetly trying to climb into a carriage shielded by Crabbe and Goyle. No sooner had the door closed behind them did a spell from somewhere render the walls of the carriage invisible. Parkinson's startled shriek and Malfoy's cursing improved Harry's mood tremendously. 

He caught Alastor's eye and allowed himself a grin before looking away so Malfoy wouldn't take his anger out on him.

Harry let himself mindlessly follow Luna around while she tittered on about this and that, scanning all the hedges and the surrounding grounds until they turned a corner and heard a pair of voices angrily whispering. 

Not wanting to be noticed because one of them _ definitely _belonged to Snape, Harry pulled Luna into a shadowed alcove with him and put a finger over his lips. They silently listened to Snape and Karkaroff, the other participant, and heard about the Dark Mark, well, darkening.

Harry frowned. Coupled with his dreams and his scar hurting from time to time, he didn't like the direction this year was taking. Not at all. 

They stayed in that alcove until they were well and truly certain the two (former?) death eaters were gone and only then made their way back to the castle in somber silence. 

"I don't like this very much, Harry," Luna sighed. "Do you think it's true?" 

"I'm not sure," Harry replied with a frown. "I don't know who to ask, though. I mean, Moody, uh, Alastor is retired and who else is there? I can't ask Dumbledore, he'll just placate me and tell me to focus on the tournament. If that! He's as cross with me as I am with him and the press… Yeah, no way."

"I _ could _ ask daddy, I suppose," Luna proposed. "He is a journalist, too, after all. I'll send him a letter over the break, maybe he's heard something while researching." 

"I'll take what I can get," Harry said with a smile. "Thanks, Luna. By the way, I can't really feel my toes anymore. Wanna head back inside?" 

"Oh, certainly. My cheeks are numb!" 

-o-

They hadn't stayed long in the Great Hall afterwards. There was no sign of Hermione and Viktor and the Weird Sisters were being awfully loud, so they warmed up a little with some heated punch and left. 

Harry escorted Luna back to her common room and made his way to his own afterwards. While he was walking along a deserted corridor, he turned around when he heard movement behind him. He frowned when there was nothing there and had his wand in his hand in a second. 

The corridor certainly _ looked _ empty but maybe someone was following him under a disillusionment spell? He was prepared to fire a broad _ finite _ spell Moody had taught him when a curse thrown from behind him _ yet again _ cut through his thoughts. 

For a strange moment, he felt like he was moving on his own as he turned around and cast a _ protego _ to shield himself. The spell had been red. A stunner? 

He looked towards his attackers. From nowhere, a group of about half a dozen students, still wearing their festive robes, had assembled in front of him. They all appeared to be his age or older judging by their size but without their house colours and in the dim light of the torches he couldn't really make out their identities. 

"_Tarantallegra_!" Another curse flew at him and Harry erected another shield. 

"What kind of cowards are you!?" He felt anger rising inside of him. "What are you trying to accomplish here? Go away to your common rooms and leave me in peace, you halfwits!" 

"We want justice for Cedric," one of them said and stepped forward. "You took what was meant for him and now you're in the spotlight once more. Don't you have enough fame already, _ Potter_?" 

Harry frowned when he identified Zacharias Smith of Hufflepuff. His classmate! 

"This again? You know full well I never wanted _ any _ of this to begin with, I've only said so a _ thousand times _ already. And me and Cedric are _ fine _ with each other, he doesn't need a horde of white knights defending him." 

"That's only because he's too bloody noble for his own good," an older student growled at him and Harry remembered the one Hufflepuff student accusing him of favouritism when he'd walked into the Great Hall with Moody. 

Was this a group of _ Hufflepuffs _out for blood? Just his luck, of course. 

"Just, just go home, badgers," Harry sighed. "I mean, you're the good guys. Don't stoop to this level. Just don't." 

That seemed to enrage the group even more and suddenly, there were spells flying at him from each of them. 

He rolled to the side and threw up a desperate shield. Shooting up to his feet again immediately, he weighed his options as he started running. No way was he able to take on so many students on his own. The party was still going strong, so he only had to return to the busier corridors and there would surely be one or two possible allies around? 

Rounding a corner, he was confronted with Ernie MacMillan who turned around with an open mouth when Harry came running. Ernie seemed about as thrilled to see him as Harry was to be confronted with another Puff. 

Oh wait. No. Was he _ standing watch!? _

"You're dead to me, MacMillan," Harry spat at him and Ernie took a step to the side with wide eyes. 

Unfortunately, their encounter had been long enough for the others to catch up and Smith fired a stunner at him that Harry wasn't quick enough to shield from. 

But instead of dropping and darkness, there was only a quick burst of light as the stunner collided with his new robes. 

"Thank you, mysterious stranger," Harry whispered while all the boys stared at him with disbelieving eyes. "_Armaturae oppugno_!" 

Moody had shown him this for if he was ever in a bind in the corridors of Hogwarts and if seven to one wasn't a bind, he didn't know what was! 

With metallic groans and rusty screeching sounds the suits of armour along the corridor came to life, brandished their halberds, and started advancing on his attackers with heavy steps. Not wanting to stick around, Harry ran in the opposite direction. 

But because this was his life and he just _ couldn't catch a break_, who else would be patrolling the corridor he entered but one of his least favourite professors: Severus Snape.

He skidded to a halt and bit his tongue to keep the curse word that wanted to burst forth from escaping. 

"Mr. Potter," Snape's cold voice echoed through the corridor, "is there a particular reason why you're running through the corridors past midnight? And am I right to assume that the infernal clangour I'm investigating also originates with you?" 

Moody, no, Alastor, _ Alastor_, had drilled into him how to deal with Snape. No weakness. No eye contact. No rising to the bait. 

"I'm sorry, Professor," he said tonelessly. "On my way to the common room I've been waylaid by a group of older Hufflepuff students wanting revenge for taking the spotlight from Cedric. I animated the suits of armour to protect me and ran." 

He didn't know what Snape's expression looked like and didn't dare check. 

"This is no route you take to get to the Gryffindor common rooms from the Great Hall, Mr. Potter." 

"Yes, you're right, sir. I escorted my date, Luna Lovegood, back to Ravenclaw tower first as is customary." 

He kept staring straight ahead, face void of expression and hoped that someone, anyone, would come to his rescue. To his great relief, someone did. Professor Flitwick rounded a corner from another direction and came straight for them. 

"Mr. Potter, are you alright? I came across a group of Hufflepuff students chased by our suits of armour and they said you sent them after them?" 

The diminutive professor was slightly out of breath and panted a little after he was done saying his piece. 

"I did, Professor Flitwick," Harry answered, relieved, and looked at the small man. "They cornered me and threw curses at me and because there were so many, I used _ armaturae oppugno _ to animate the suits of armour. Professor Moody taught me the '_oppugno _ offense as defense' tactic for situations just like this." 

"A group of Hufflepuffs attacking people?" Professor Flitwick looked scandalised. "Well, I never! But brilliant Charms work, Mr. Potter, simply brilliant. Just like your dear mother! She once sent all the castles' suits of armour after your father and his friends. Took a whole day to rearrange everything but it was ever so much fun, of course, haha!"

Harry caught Snape smiling at that from the corner of his eyes and fought hard to keep the incredulity from his face. 

Drawn in by the ruckus, some other students on their way back to Gryffindor or Ravenclaw came to check what was going on. Harry saw Ron among them and watched the boy roll his eyes when he saw who the attention was focusing on. 

He refused to feel hurt and merely watched impassively as Professor Flitwick shooed the students towards their respective common rooms. Snape and him were still standing together in sullen silence when Flitwick rejoined them. 

"Mr. Potter, I propose you return to your dorm room and get some sleep," Professor Flitwick said with a smile. "I trust you'll be able to quickly identify your attackers?" 

"I don't know all of them," he shrugged. "Two were Zacharias Smith and Ernie MacMillan but Ernie was only the lookout. The others were older, there were five of them. Justin definitely wasn't among them. Justin Finch-Fletchley, I mean. I think I'd be able to identify the others in, well, a line-up of sorts?"

"Oh, don't you worry Mr. Potter," Professor Flitwick assured him, "we'll get the identities of the others out of Mr. Smith and Mr. Macmillan. Say, Severus, how would you feel about a half dozen little helpers for cleaning your cauldrons, sorting through potions supplies etcetera etcetera?" 

Harry watched Flitwick and Snape leave towards a staircase that led to the dungeon level and couldn't quite contain his relieved grin. If Flitwick hadn't been there, this might have ended a lot differently! As it were, he was pretty proud of himself for his handling of Snape. 

But he was _ really _tired now so he went off to bed as fast as possible. Thanking his mysterious friend again in his thoughts, he carefully folded the robes and put them in his trunk. 

  



	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It gets a li'l cozy in this chapter so I thought I should finally share my fancast for Moody with you guys because film!Moody? Naaah. 
> 
> It's Iain Glen, who played Jorah Mormont in GoT, just with a chunk of nose and an eye missing and a bunch of scars everywhere. His pic on the GoT fandom wiki with the blue coat is very Moody!

There had been no further attacks on Harry's person. Rumours of him simply absorbing spells as if he had magic-resistant hide spread around the school like wildfire and by dinner the next day, one of the leading theories was that he had been turned into a werewolf. 

Nevermind that werewolves were only magic-resistant when turned. 

Now, two days after the ball and even though it was bright daylight outside, Harry was walking the halls hidden under his invisibility cloak. He even had the map out underneath it to be absolutely sure that he wouldn't encounter anyone. The hateful glances had been bad enough, but the fearful ones? Again, a hurtful reminder of second year. 

When he had reached the small corridor leading towards the DADA classroom, he made sure Alastor was still in his office and that no one else was around. Stowing cloak and map away into his new pouch, he strode quickly towards the classroom and slipped inside. 

Once up the staircase at the back of it, he knocked politely on the door to the man's quarters. There was no response. Harry frowned and knocked again; a bit harder this time. Still nothing. 

"Professor Moody?" His voice was uncertain. Was the man asleep? "Alastor?" 

There was a bit of a ruckus coming from inside but no one answered or opened the door. Harry decided to come back later. After all, they hadn't set a date for his little stint in Alastor's tub. Maybe the man was busy. 

But just when he reached the door of the classroom again, it opened and Alastor was standing in front of him. Harry gaped at him.

The map had been wrong! The map had never been wrong! Could the map even be wrong!? 

"-you hear me? What's wrong, Harry? Another silly gaggle of Hufflepuffs after you? Want me to give them the old auror treatment?" 

"I'm, I, no, that–" Quick. Quick. "I just felt… really nauseous all of a sudden. Vertigo and everything? I might not have eaten enough?" 

Alastor frowned at him and shooed him back up the stairs.

"What have I taught you about proper nutrition, lad? Bah, but I can almost understand it, what with the whole werewolf rumour. In bad taste, all of it."

"Yeah, and then when I was knocking here there was a noise in your office and I was afraid I was disturbing you."

This time, it was Alastor whose stare turned vacant. "Noise, yeah? Must be one of the Darker creatures I keep locked up for the N.E.W.T. classes, I'll, uh, deal with it. Just wait here a moment, don't want you attacked or anything." 

Harry was all too glad to have a moment to center himself but he didn't dare get the map out in case Alastor was watching him. It was a strangely discomforting thought to even consider that the map could be wrong. Then again, if he'd learned anything by now, it was that people were fallible so why not the Marauders? Especially since at least two of them didn't much care for him though they ought to, in all honesty. 

Swearing under his breath because no way was he gonna go down that road today, Harry banished the map from his mind completely and waited for Alastor to open the door. 

When he did, he asked Harry inside and had him sit down in front of the fire where a plate of sandwiches was waiting for him. Since Harry had actually eschewed most meals in favour of hiding out under his cloak and getting food from Dobby occasionally, he realised that he was actually really hungry. 

"That picture of you and Luna dancing in yesterday's Prophet was nice," Alastor told him and put a sandwich in his hand.

"Luna doesn't much like the Prophet but she actually cut it out, cast a stasis spell on it so it stays moving and put it into a memory notebook she has." Harry grinned and ate a big bite of his watercress sandwich. "It's nice to still have some friends." 

"You need to tell me about the werewolf thing," Alastor prompted. "How did that even happen?" 

"The, uh, rune-embroidered robes I was sent? When I was jumped by those Hufflepuffs, a spell I wasn't quick enough to shield from got absorbed by them. It was just a stunner but it was nevertheless nothing I've ever seen before. Not that I've seen much at all in my life."

The last part was only mumbled into his sandwich and when he looked at Alastor, there was a shadow of… _ something _ flickering over the man's face. Alastor must have noticed him seeing it because he cleared his throat and left to rummage around his desk for a moment. 

"I analysed that note you gave me," Alastor said. "Was indeed a compulsion charm on it. I've also found out who it's from. Remember when I told you about me having had a mentor as well? He's reclusive but he can still be reached by Owl nowadays. I, uh, told him about you actually and it seems like he's taken it upon himself to try and protect you in his own way."

"But that's brilliant!" Harry was ecstatic. "If he taught you all you know then he must be really smart. And if he's on my side and wants to help me, that might be a real advantage if he has access to artifacts like the robe. Can i write him a thank you letter?" 

"You… could," Alastor replied very slowly. "I'd need to send it though since not all owls can find him." 

"I'll write a letter to him and give it to you, then," Harry decided. "Oh, I almost forgot! I didn't actually come here to ask about the note or scrounge for food. I wanted to use that tub of yours and find out about the egg. If now's not a good time because of the creatures you keep or anything, I can come back whenever." 

"Ah, the egg," Alastor nodded. "Only a little less than two months to go. You can use the bathroom today if you want. I'll even, here, let me just, take the eye off so you don't feel watched." 

Harry watched Alastor wrestle the leather straps from his head and was cautious not to stare at the empty eye socket. 

"You wouldn't need people to be naked to see them naked though, would you?" He eyed the… eye warily. "How does it even work? Can you just choose how many layers you want to X-ray?" 

"What on earth is an X-ray?"

"Oh, right. Uh, it's a muggle thing. They have machines that can make your skeleton visible in a picture to know where and how your bones are broken after an accident or something." 

"Hm, I see. I think I've heard about that. No diagnosis spells or Skele-Gro for muggles after all. The eye works however you want in its limitations. It's magic." 

Harry snorted. "If I tried explaining how something worked by saying it's magic you'd accuse me of being a poor excuse of a budding scholar." 

"It's really hard to explain," Alastor grumbled and pushed the eye at him. "Here, you try, just close the straps loosely behind your head and hold it in front of one of your eyes." 

Intrigued, Harry did just that. As soon as the straps were fastened, a veritable _ flood _ of pictures and impressions washed over him and made him dizzy. He _ felt _ the eye whizzing around and he saw through the wall behind Alastor, back into the corridor, looked into the bathrooms and there was indeed a tub, how nice, and he could see all the way outside towards the Forbidden Forest and even up to the Astronomy Tower where a couple was snogging and just after he got violently ill and wanted to say goodbye to his sandwich again, it was suddenly all over.

Alastor was standing beside him, eye dangling from his hand. "I relieved you of this," he explained and patted Harry's head a little with his free hand. "It gets incredibly overwhelming the first time you put it on. Take a couple deep breaths, drink some water." 

Harry leaned into Alastor and willed the vertigo in his head to go away. 

"How do you handle all those impressions all day long? It's way too much. It's even worse than when I'm flying really fast during Quidditch!" 

He felt Alastor tensing when he first leaned against him but soon enough, the hand still on his head started petting his hair again very carefully and Harry hummed a little. 

"You get used to it," Alastor explained. "The advantages outweigh the disadvantages by far. Though I must confess– getting rid of the blasted leg and the eye is the highlight of every evening for me." 

"Have you thought about using a normal eye prosthetic for, well, Sundays and stuff? When you don't need Constant Vigilance?" 

"Wouldn't do my nickname justice if I did that, now, would I," Alastor laughed and Harry was happy, like every time he was able to make the gruff man laugh. "Off to the tub with you now. There's towels in the little dresser to the left, just help yourself." 

Harry hummed again and forced himself away from the easy warmth Alastor's side provided. The hand on his head fell away when he got up and he sheepishly made his way over to the bathroom. 

"Thanks, Alastor. I mean it." 

Before the man could reply he entered a small hallway that lead to Moody's private quarters and held the doors leading to the separate toilet and bathroom. He'd used the toilet here before, of course, but he'd never been inside the bathroom proper. 

Harry quickly ducked inside. It was small but not unreasonably so. There was a washbasin with a mirrored cabinet over it, aforementioned dresser and a decent-sized tub. Over the tub, there was a frosted glass window letting in natural light even though by rights, there should be the toilet behind the wall. Harry supposed it was a magical window of some sort. 

He didn't remember ever being in a tub but he knew the theory of course. Fiddling a little with the faucets, he started undressing while the water rushed in. He prepared two towels for later and got the egg out of his pouch. For about five seconds he considered looking at the map again but shook his head. Not going down that road today, he reminded himself. 

"Right." 

Harry looked into the swirling mass of water rising slowly towards him, topped with lovely colourful bubbles stemming from a bath additive Alastor had kept on the edge of the tub. He definitely remembered smelling faint traces of it on Alastor and grinned because very soon he was going to be all warm and enveloped in nice smells. 

Carefully, he lowered a foot into the tub and was happy to realise that the temperature was neither too hot nor too cold. He slowly sank into the water and settled himself down. 

An involuntary puff of air escaped him in some semblance of a sigh. He'd never experienced anything like this! The water was warm all around him and his body felt strangely weightless. His movements when he tried to wave his arms underwater were at the same time easier and harder. Harry decided he quite liked the feeling and leaned back. 

After indulging for a couple minutes, he reached over the edge of the tub and pulled the egg inside with him. He let himself glide lower until only his nose and upwards was peeking out. Then, he drew in a huge breath and let his head sink under the water. With a twisting motion, he opened the egg and an altogether unworldly sound seemed to engulf him. 

Strange, melodious voices sang around him and he thought that, if he hadn't been confined to the tub, he'd have tried following them. Harry listened until he was sure that he knew the song by heart and went through it in his head. 

_ 'Come seek us where our voices sound, _

_ We cannot sing above the ground, _

_ And while you're searching, ponder this: _

_ We've taken what you'll sorely miss, _

_ An hour long you'll have to look, _

_ And to recover what we took. _

_ But past an hour - the prospect's black _

_ Too late, it's gone, it won't come back.' _

What he'd sorely miss– Dumbledore knew about his cloak, of course, but he wouldn't dare… would he? Would the twins tell the headmaster or the teachers about the map if asked? His heart stuttered. Ron! 

-o-

Harry came rushing out of the bathroom not 5 minutes later wearing only his trousers and a T-shirt with his hair still dripping wet. 

"Alastor, I need to stash some things with you!" 

With a somewhat dubious expression, Alastor looked up from correcting essays and went to fasten his magical eye again. 

"I didn't take you to be the type to have contraband, Harry," he drawled with a half-smile. "And above all, why now?" 

"It's not contraband," Harry explained quickly, fishing out map and cloak while talking. "I have magical artifacts that are very, _ very _ dear to me and they'll steal something from me for the second task. If I fail, I won't get them back and I can't risk that." 

Moody's eye grew wide when Harry dumped the cloak on his desk but his brows drew together when Harry dropped the map on top of it. 

"The cloak I understand," Alastor started. "I'm not exactly fond of those things - too many bad memories from, uh, before the eye, you see - but what's the parchment about?" 

Harry watched him intently for a moment, thinking hard. Alastor returned his look evenly and with nothing but curiosity. 

"You don't need to tell me," Alastor finally said after the silence had stretched on for a while, only momentarily broken by droplets of water falling from Harry's hair and onto the ground with a splash. "I'll keep it safe for you either way." 

He made to take the items and stash them somewhere but Harry caught the man's arm and got his wand out of his robes. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." 

Before their eyes, the blank parchment started filling with the lines and dots Harry had become so intimately acquainted with for the last year and he started watching Alastor instead. At first, the man looked confused but the more the corridors and rooms took shape, the wider his good eye became until it looked almost as big the magical one. 

Finally, when the moving dots with names attached to them appeared, Alastor cursed and closed the parchment again. 

"How do you end it?" 

"You tap it with your wand and say 'Mischief managed!'," Harry explained and demonstrated in one. 

"This could be very, very dangerous if it fell into the wrong hands," Alastor whispered, his voice kind of hollow. "Who knows about it?" 

"Of those who wouldn't blap come hell or high water there's Hermione and the twins, Fred and George I mean, and I recently told Luna." Harry took a deep breath. "Then there's Ron. He also knows about the cloak, as well as Hermione, the twins again and… Dumbledore." 

"Figured as much. Look at me, Harry and listen well. You lost the map. You were very sure it was in your old satchel but when you went to repack everything in your new bag, it was gone and you haven't seen it since. You last remember consciously seeing it shortly before the start of the winter break. You left the cloak at your relatives' house, stored under those loose floorboards you told me about because you wanted a very quiet year without being tempted into rule breaking. Got everything?"

"Yes, yes I did," Harry agreed, amazed by how quick Alastor had been with making up a cover story. "Thank you, Alastor. I really mean it. I couldn't bear losing them." 

He grabbed a piece of parchment and a quill lying on the man's desk and quickly wrote down the song. 

"Here, that's what the egg said. Or, well, sung, really." 

"I'm afraid even I don't know the specifics of the second task," Alastor shrugged. "Ever since you and I became, ha, friends I suppose, Dumbledore has kept me well away from any and all tournament business. I only knew as much about the egg as I did because it had to be enchanted before the first task. So we'll have to do this the old-fashioned way."

"Think?" 

"Think," Alastor agreed and eyed him. "It _ is _ December, you know? You ought to dry yourself off properly, young man, or you'll catch a cold." 

Alastor raised his wand and hit Harry with a drying spell before he could go to grab another towel. Immediately, Harry could feel his untameable hair becoming even poofier than it normally was and he squawked indignantly.

-o-

Snuggled up in a warm blanket that smelled like his new favourite teacher in front of the fireplace, Harry put his mind to the task. 

"They'll try and take something. Now that I've hidden the cloak and the map with you, it'll probably be my Firebolt. I'll have one hour to get it back and after that it's over and I'll have failed the second task - presumably - and they'll keep it." Harry sighed. "Would be a right shame, I got it from someone very important to me."

"Where do you think they'll take it?" 

"It's the merpeople singing the song so it'll probably be around the lake? Maybe we'll have to transfigure a boat?" 

"You sure?" 

"Well, surely they wouldn't–" Harry stopped himself. "Oh no. Oh bloody hell. Oh no. Nononono. _ You think it's _ ** _in_ ** _ the lake_?" 

Harry paled when he realised that it had to be. The merpeople wouldn't leave the lake for that and why go through all the trouble of having a song in Mermish if you didn't hide the champions' treasures in their village? 

Wide-eyed and with a sudden onset of cold sweat on his face Harry turned to Alastor and the man got up immediately upon seeing his expression. 

"What's wrong, lad? Don't you worry, we'll find a way for you to survive this, too. Even if jumping into the lake in the middle of bloody February is the _ height _of stupidity if you ask me, but we'll make it work somehow." 

Harry looked up at Alastor when the man stopped in front of his armchair and felt himself start to shiver. 

"I can't swim," he said tonelessly. "Sitting in your tub just now was the first time I've ever been engulfed in water _ in my life_. I'll drown without even starting to dive and if I find a way to stay underwater for so long in the first place I won't be able to move because I don't know how to _ swim_." 

And he'd been so proud of doing his best and surviving the first task so well! Harry buried his face in his hands and groaned as if in pain.

"I'm so gonna die." He shook his head and pressed his palms harder into his eyes. "I don't want this, Alastor, I can't do this." 

In response, Moody got him to stand up and pulled him into one of those nice warm hugs. Harry pressed himself into the auror's chest and tried to get his breathing back under control. A big hand was lazily carding through the messy hair on the back of his head and he tried concentrating on how nice it felt to slow his panicked heart. 

"You're gonna have a heart attack before you're thirty if you keep this up," Alastor said and Harry could feel the bass of the man's voice vibrating in his chest. "I told you we'll make this work somehow, and we will. Anything's possible with magic if you know where to look for the proper spells or what have you." 

Alastor made to pull away but Harry decided to be selfish for once and clung tighter to him. The hand in his hair stilled and Harry decided not to push his luck after all. But when he made to pull away instead, Alastor kept him close by exerting a little pressure with his hand. 

"Standing still isn't very comfortable with the leg," the man explained, turned them around a little and unceremoniously sat down in the armchair. 

Harry was pulled down alongside him and found himself in his mentor's lap, legs dangling off to one side. Before he could feel self-conscious, Alastor had pulled him close again and Harry rested one hand over the man's heart. It was odd, to feel another person's heartbeat like that and Harry blushed.

He'd heard the girls titter and giggle about some of the upperclassmen of course and had heard the boys share whispered stories about a girl they fancied and how they felt when looking at her. He knew about crushes, too, and he also knew about people like him– those who'd come from loveless environments, who clung to those who'd shown them kindness. 

Hermione had given him a short book about this a couple months ago, actually and it was good to be aware but still. Alastor had been nothing but kind to him so it was only natural to want to be close to someone like this. 

Also, he felt safe with him like he never had with anyone before and didn't the book say that people in positions of authority were always especially appealing because of the power they had? 

So yeah. Harry probably had a little crush on his mentor. 

"Do you think this is appropriate?" His words were mumbled and almost unintelligible, muttered into Alastor's shirt as they were. 

"I'm not sure," Alastor answered cautiously. "My intention at the moment is to give you some much-needed comfort. I don't think you've been held like this in ages." 

"I certainly can't remember it," Harry shrugged and couldn't hold back a little yawn. "Suppose my mum and dad used to cuddle me when I was a baby but, well." 

Alastor sighed wearily and pulled him in closer. Harry's head was comfortably nestled beneath the man's chin and he curled himself up a little more, tucking his feet under the armrest of the armchair.

"If I like it and you like it and neither of us thinks it's inappropriate I'd like to stay like this for a while," Harry shared and Alastor merely hummed affirmatively in response. "What do you suppose we should do about the second task? Can I forfeit by just jumping into the lake for a second or two, pretending to drown and getting myself saved?" 

Alastor chuckled drily and Harry felt him shake his head. A warm hand found its way to the back of his head again and started scratching at the skin there. Harry got goosebumps. 

"I'm afraid willful forfeiture will be covered by that ridiculous contract. There's only one thing we can do: teach you to swim." 

"In the lake?" 

"Well, we'll start with warming charms. And we'll get you cold-resistant clothes. I think the muggles have some materials that are perfect for diving in cold temperatures. You should ask your friend Hermione for help." 

"Oh, I will! I'll have her ask her parents to send her a thick wetsuit in my size! They really like her so I don't think they'd refuse." 

"Of course they like her," Alastor said. "That's the way family is supposed to be. Though my old man wasn't one of the most involved to be honest." 

"Is that why you became an auror? To help people when they don't have help from those they should get help from?" 

Alastor was quiet for a long while and Harry felt his eyes growing heavier and heavier. He yawned again and rubbed at his eyes. He felt more than he saw that Alastor pulled a blanket over them and relaxed fully into the warm sensation. 

"I guess you could say that I was striving for a better world," Alastor whispered with a strangely emotional voice but Harry was almost gone and merely shuffled a little closer in response. "Sleep well, young Harry." 

  
  
  
  
  
  



	8. Chapter 8

When Harry woke up, he was in a bed. He knew it wasn't his bed because the linen in front of his face wasn't the right colour and it smelled differently than his did.

Groggily, he sat up in the semi-darkness and blindly felt around for his glasses. All he found was his wand next to his pillow and he used that to _ accio _ them to him. Next, he cast a weak _ lumos _ and looked around. 

Alastor's auror coat hung over the back of a chair next to the curtained window and a couple bips and bops were strewn about. Some clothing, a pair of slippers, that kind of thing. A quick _ tempus _ charm revealed that the time for dinner had already passed. 

Harry realised he'd slept the day away in Alastor's quarters. Didn't he fall asleep on the armchair, specifically on–? He valiantly fought the blush creeping up his neck but ultimately lost and felt it heatedly claim his cheeks. 

He vaguely remembered a sort of carrying sensation and there was a faint vision in his head of someone lowering him into bed but he'd never seen that blonde man before in his life. It had been dark in any case so he probably hadn't seen anything. 

Harry noticed there was a dressing gown lying next to him on the bed and he slipped it on since he was getting cold in just his T-shirt and trousers before pattering down the corridor to Alastor's office. 

"Good morning, Snow White," Alastor greeted him jovially.

The man was sitting in one of the armchairs with a book in his lap and his prosthetic leg leaning against the outer side of it. It looked cozy and judging by the lack of parchment in the designated 'yet to be marked' area on Alastor's desk, he'd spent his time well. 

"I'm sorry for just falling asleep on you like that," Harry apologised kind of awkwardly. "I, uh, didn't get much sleep the last couple nights because I was so nervous about everything. Getting jumped, the werewolf thing… I'm just waiting for it to break in the Prophet, actually. The ball coverage was too favourable for me and the other champions." 

"You shouldn't worry so much, Harry," Alastor chided him gently and Harry wasn't sure whether he meant the embarrassment or the press. "I took care of some things. Skeeter won't be as big of a problem as she used to be." 

"Did you send her a letter?" 

"Something like that."

Harry decided it was in his best interest not to pry further into auror business at this point in time and to simply accept that a good thing was happening for once. 

"You, uh, said you're going to teach me the warming charm and how to swim. Can we even do that in two months?" 

"As you've seen earlier when you came in here, I've already finished correcting essays. For the rest of the holidays, you, Harry, are going to be living, breathing and drinking water _ until you grow gills and webbed feet._" 

"Oh goody," Harry groaned, pulling the dressing robe tighter. "I hope you'll help me with the warming charms until Hermione can contact her parents." 

Alastor merely snorted. "We'll have a late dinner in my bedroom, I've spent enough time at this bloody desk for one day." 

Harry followed Alastor back into the private room after the man had strapped his leg back on and he smiled as he watched him use his wand to put everything that was lying around into his wardrobe. 

"Didn't particularly expect visitors in this area today," the man grumbled. "Or, well, any day really." 

Alastor conjured a low table and two cushions and sat down on one, unbuckling the leg again as soon as he was seated. 

"Is it giving you trouble?" Harry sat down opposite him and looked at the stump concealed in a tight elastic cover. 

"There are bad days and then there are worse days," Alastor shrugged. "It's one of the latter ones today." 

"Is there anything I can do to help?" 

"Not being grossed out by the bloody stump is more than enough." 

When Alastor snapped his fingers, a rice dish Harry had never seen appeared before them. He tucked in greedily and only remembered his manners sometime around the halfway mark. Frowning, Harry took his elbows off the table and cleared his throat. 

"Sorry, table manners, I know." He drew in a deep breath and tried to find the words that had been ghosting through his head since he woke up. "I'm… I've never wanted to be at Hogwarts less than in this moment, you know? I feel like I have to hide all the time and even going to eat in the Great Hall is stressful. I'm, that is, I was wondering if… right. You said I had options. That I could go elsewhere. I love this place, I really do, but lately, I don't like it very much."

"You want me to take you with me." 

It was a statement, not a question and Harry found himself nodding quickly. 

"Yes, I do. I'm, I don't want to assume anything but if money's a problem of any kind, well, I have more than enough of that. I could pay room and board, maybe? If you have a spare room? Or I'd try to get my own place close by somehow. Or maybe farther away but with a Floo?"

Alastor chuckled and looked at him with a fond expression. 

"My offer still stands. No, look at me, properly. Like that, yes." Harry intently watched Alastor draw in a big breath and let it out slowly, as if he was steeling himself for something. "If, at the end of the school year, you still want to come with me, I will take you with me– no matter who might try to object or stop you. Do you understand?" 

Harry nodded. 

"No, I need to hear it. Do you completely understand what I've just told you?" 

Frowning a little, Harry repeated the words in his head. "You'll take me with you if I want you to. No one will be able to stop you, or us, if I've made that decision. Like that?" 

"Exactly. Don't forget that." 

Harry grinned contentedly and started eating again– this time with a little less starving animal and a little more well-mannered young man. 

"I had a dream, I think," Harry said between bites. "I dreamed that someone carried me over to the bed but he didn't look like you at all."

"Oh," Alastor said lamely, gesturing with his spoon. "What did he look like? Your father?" 

"No, he was, uh, blonde." 

"Is that so… Maybe it was Snow White's prince." 

Harry chuckled at that. "He was handsome enough to be a prince in any case." 

Instead of chuckling along with his silly quip, Alastor choked on his spoonful of fried rice and started coughing. Harry hurriedly rounded the table and patted him on the back until he could breathe properly again. 

"Sorry, sorry, didn't mean to make you choke," Harry hurriedly apologised. 

"Wasn't your fault, Harry," Alastor pressed out and drank a quick sip from his flask. "I just, uh, wasn't expecting that. Like blonde princes then, do you?" 

Harry blushed a little. "Not ones like Malfoy," he quickly clarified. "I don't much care about whether it's a prince or a princess, I think. I'd mostly expect them to be nice to me, stand by me and believe me when I tell them something. Maybe like spending time with me, too?" 

"That's _ literally _ the bare minimum you should expect in a partner," Alastor commented drily, pushing his now empty plate into the middle of the table.

"Kind and loyal," Harry repeated. "That's all I ask for." 

-o-

Being in the tub had been nice. Relaxing, even. But the Black Lake, while also water, was _ nothing _ like being in a tub. Harry fought against shivering yet again from the cold water biting through the fabric of his new, top-of-the-line wetsuit and concentrated on even strokes. 

He'd felt exceptionally silly, practicing breast strokes out on the shores of the lake but he was glad now that he'd done the exercises without making much of a fuss. 

Alastor was next to him in one of the boats the first years used every year to cross the lake. 

"That's it, don't forget to breathe from time to time!"

Harry forced his head far above the water again, breathing in greedily. He grabbed hold of the side of the boat and held on for dear life. 

"I'm getting better," he grinned, flushed from the cold and shivering. "That was, what? 30 yards? And I didn't need to stop once to reorient myself." 

"It's good progress for less than a week," Alastor agreed. "A lot better than I'd have expected. At that rate, we'll get you ready in no time. You really are a jock." 

"It's nice, being good at something," Harry grinned, paddling idly with his feet. With the new fins on his feet, he actually propelled the boat sideways a little. "Even if it's sports rather than magic." 

"You're decent enough at magic by now, Harry, stop beating yourself down. But enough practice for today," Alastor decided. "We need to get you warmed up and put some food in your belly. Last task for today is to paddle the boat back to the shore." 

"But we're in the middle of the lake!" Harry was whining, he knew he was, but he was so _ tired _ . This was the fourth day he'd spent in the lake, the first one with a wetsuit and swimming freely next to the boat, and his muscles were _ screaming _at him. 

"Think a grindylow is going to care whether you're too tired to fight it, lad? Get to it, chop chop." 

With a groan, Harry got to paddling with his sore legs. It took them ten minutes to reach the shore and by that time he was absolutely knackered. When the boat ran aground, he simply stayed where he was, lying half-submerged in water. 

"Up you go, Harry." Alastor turned him around with a foot so he was lying on his back and reached out with a hand. "Come on, up to the castle." 

Harry grabbed the warm hand with what he was sure was the last of his strength and felt himself pulled upwards. Now that he wasn't flat on the ground anymore, he started shivering relentlessly when the wind hit him full force. He could see several groups of students pointing at him and laughing behind their hands and sullenly started his march up to the castle. 

"Enough _ doggy paddling _for a day, Potter?" Gosh, he'd recognise that arrogant, posh voice anywhere. "Getting put back into the kennel by your handler?" 

"Very funny, Mr. Malfoy," Alastor drawled while Harry simply kept walking. "I thought your little stint as a ferret would have sufficed to teach you some manners? Want me to send back a tail or something to your daddy dearest? You know I would." 

Harry looked back over his shoulder and watched Malfoy's face grow even paler while the flush of his cheeks grew redder. Only Crabbe and Goyle were with him and Merlin knew those two weren't any help against a wizard of Alastor's caliber. 

"Father wasn't amused by that, by the way," Malfoy sneered. 

"Oh really? Why, that traitor father of yours can count himself lucky I know how to behave myself in polite company." Before Malfoy could retort anything, Alastor had his wand out and pointed at him. "_Petrificus totalus_!" 

Somehow, the spell hit both Malfoy and his two cronies and they all fell down flat onto their faces into the snow. 

"Let's see how many friends you _ actually _ have, Mr. Malfoy," Alastor smiled deviously and turned to catch up with Harry. 

"You're gonna leave them there like that?" 

"Gotta get my star pupil back to the inside before he freezes to death, don't I?" Alastor grinned toothily at him. "Dreadful business, how they tried pushing you back into the water. Glad I could step in in time." 

Harry snorted. No teacher had ever bent the rules for him like that. Hell, no one had _ ever _ stood up for him like this except maybe Hermione. 

"It's a shame Viktor didn't want a wetsuit too," Harry mused. "Hermione said he wants to do it without help, so he actually comes out to the lake every morning as well and swims around. He's probably a lot better with warming charms than me. Maybe he can even cast them wordlessly. Can you do that? Cast it wordlessly?" 

Alastor brandished his wand and sent an especially powerful, silent warming charm his way and Harry enjoyed feeling like he wasn't freezing to death for a while. 

"I take it that's a yes, then. How many spells can you do silently? I bet you can do _ loads_! Ten? More than ten? Dozens!?" 

A wordless, _ wandless _ stinging hex struck him in the butt and he squawked indignantly. 

"Less talking, more walking. We're still out in the cold." 

Harry grumbled but started walking faster while the fins in his hands swung from left to right. In the distance, Malfoy and his cronies got smaller and smaller. 

-o-

When classes started again on January 3rd, a Wednesday, Harry felt like he'd fallen into a parallel universe. He'd spent practically all of his break either holed up in Alastor's office or out by the lake, only returning to the Common Room and his dorm for sleeping. 

Sometimes, Luna had stayed with them, drawing something in her notebooks, working on her essays or just humming contentedly as she read a book while Harry tried his hardest to make progress with a wordless warming spell.

He felt like he was merely drifting through the motions during class– sure, he was doing his best work yet, intellectually speaking but he felt entirely disconnected from his peers. 

When Friday rolled around, he'd even started yearning for the bloody lake again. Especially now, waiting in front of the Potions classroom. He'd started partnering with Hermione after the first task and was standing close to her now, a little ways away from the others. 

As they took their seats near the front of the classroom, Harry kept his gaze level and looked at the blackboard with a neutral expression. He knew it vexed Snape to no end that he wasn't rising to the bait at all anymore and felt a warm blanket of pride wrap around his shoulders. 

Like always, the instructions appeared on the blackboard and Harry and Hermione started gathering their things from out of their potion kits. Working with Hermione, Harry had learned to wait until the biggest swarm of people had left the narrow supply closet. 

This week, it was Hermione's turn to get the non-standard ingredients and Harry got a fire going under their cauldron. 

That's when he realised he felt watched. He pretended to look for Hermione but analysed the room while turning. Malfoy was watching him in what he must have considered to be a stealthy approach. For someone who'd spent all day with a paranoid auror for two weeks, it was easy to spot. 

"We need to be exceptionally careful today," Harry said meaningfully when Hermione came back. "This potion is very volatile." 

"Oh, I see," Hermione nodded and surreptitiously got out her wand. "_Protego globellum_." 

The incantation was merely whispered, but Harry could tell it had worked by the way the air shimmered and danced around them. Alastor had taught Harry the globe shield encompassing its caster during the break and he'd immediately gone on to show Hermione who'd been delighted. 

Since she was still the better caster by far, they'd agreed on this being their go-to approach for potion defense. 

Harry took on more of an active role while brewing since Hermione had to expend no small amount of concentration to maintain the spell but she corrected him whenever necessary. 

It didn't take long for the shield to ripple with an impact. A magical mungo bean flicked against it and was propelled back from whence it came. Harry watched it land in the cauldron belonging to either Nott or Zabini and he grimaced when the potion immediately started emitting putrid, dark smoke. Thick green liquid splashed upwards and struck Zabini, who'd been leaning over the cauldron, in the face and torso. 

Just as Zabini started screaming, Snape arrived at the front, vanishing the potion and eyeing the boy distastefully. 

"Off to the infirmary with you, Mr. Zabini. Ms. Moon, you'll go with him, Ms. Bulstrode can be trusted to be alone with a potion." He waited with a frightful glower until the two had left. "Mr. Nott, this is not like you. The magical mungo beans are added at the very end, not tossed in randomly like this." 

"It wasn't our fault, professor," Nott answered with a frown of his own. "_Someone _ just can't control themselves." 

Harry sighed very, very softly and saw Hermione stiffen beside him, too, but Nott's frosty glare was directed in the opposite direction. 

"_Draco _ doesn't know when to mind his own business," he said in a cold voice, facing the other boy. "Is that your thanks for me saving you and your friends from an undignified death via hypothermia, Draco?" 

"It came from Potter's direction," Draco immediately defended himself and got up. "I saw it come flying from over there!" 

"That's because _you_ threw it there and after almost four years of _constant_ _childish_ _antagonising_, Potter and Granger learned their lesson and employ a _bloody _globe shield!" 

It was the most Harry had ever heard Nott say in one sitting in the last four years and he was pleasantly surprised that it was basically in his defense. 

This situation as a whole was, of course, unheard of. Slytherin against Slytherin, and in Snape's class to boot! Harry saw Snape look towards them from the corner of his eye but kept his head down and continued chopping up the ginger roots. 

He felt Hermione stiffen again when Snape walked towards them and reached out with one hand, index finger outstretched. When it collided with their shield, he jumped a little. 

"Who taught you how to cast a globe shield?" His voice was quiet and cold as always. 

"I looked for ways to protect ourselves, professor," Hermione explained. "You saw how Zabini looked– that would have been Harry and me if we hadn't been prepared. I found this spell in a book and we actually practised it by throwing potion ingredients at each other." 

Harry dared look and saw Snape lift up an eyebrow. When the man's gaze threatened to sweep over to him, Harry looked down again instantly and started measuring his cut ginger root with red ears. 

"You should cut them a little finer, Mr. Potter," Snape said flatly and turned back to the Slytherin side. "Mr. Malfoy, you are excused from this lesson. Mr. Nott, you will share Miss Parkinson's cauldron until the end of the lesson and gain a mark for both you and Mr. Zabini." 

At first, it seemed like Malfoy wanted to protest, but then he started throwing his things carelessly into his bag and stomped out of the classroom with a lot less dignity than he normally did. 

In the end, Harry and Hermione got an O for their potion and Harry had gotten his first ever proper critique from Snape regarding his potion brewing techniques. 

He _was_ rather waiting for a pig to fly past a window next or something like that. 

"Can I join you and Professor Moody today, Harry?" Hermione asked after the lesson was over. "Viktor and Luna are meeting at the edge of the Forbidden Forest to look for… something called radonian rumdrucker? I've finished all my essays and I wanted to thank Professor Moody for the spell again." 

"Sure, I'd like that," Harry grinned. "About Viktor and Luna… you're not jealous, are you?" 

"Ohh, no, don't worry," Hermione waved his worries aside. "I'm not the type to get jealous _ that _ easily. They even invited me along, but… well, crouching in the snowy undergrowth for hours on end? I'd rather read one of the books on my to read list." 

"Oh, I don't think I told you yet– when we're among friends, Luna and me call Professor Moody Alastor now," Harry explained and heaved a big sigh before looking Hermione in the eye. "With the way things are, chances are I'm going away from Hogwarts after this year and if it all works out, Alastor will probably tutor me." 

"I might go to Beauxbatons," Hermione rushed out breathlessly in response and Harry stared at her. "I'm fluent in French and Viktor is in his last school year in Durmstrang. He doesn't like magical Britain much and there's no place for muggleborn in the Eastern European countries, so we kind of agreed to emigrate to France after this year. He wants to become a spell crafter, can you imagine? He's really good at Arithmancy and he's sending out applications to every spell crafter in France! He's already passable in French but I'm giving him lessons which is why he isn't getting _ much _ better with English because all our time is spent speaking French and _ oh Harry I'm going to miss you so much_!"

Hermione started sobbing violently and flung her arms around Harry's neck. He had to use all his strength to keep her from crashing them to the ground and scanned the area around them– they were alone. 

"Oh ʼMione, how long have you been bottling this up? It's fine, we'll be fine, maybe I can finally send you letters and have them actually get through for once, even?" He hugged her back fiercely. "And there's always International Portkeys. They're supposed to be terrible but I'd take one every month if it meant I got to spend some time with you." 

That only made Hermione sob harder and he patted her back in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. "Come on, let's get you somewhere where there's tea." 

It was a struggle to get her to Alastor's office and she instantly collapsed into one of the armchairs and continued sobbing. 

"What's wrong with her? You had Potions, didn't you? Did something bad happen?" 

"No, nothing like that," Harry reassured him and sat on one of the armrests to continue stroking Hermione's back. "We've just realised we might not see each other all that much in the future." 

Upon hearing that, Hermione's wails got louder again and Alastor went to a cabinet, got out a little flask and put it into her hands. "Drink that, lass, bottoms up, quick now." 

Hermione obeyed with a little fussing and instantly became calmer afterwards. She accepted a conjured handkerchief and noisily blew her nose. 

"Now, from the beginning, Harry. What's going on?" 

Harry quickly relayed their experience in Potions and the gist of their conversation on the way to him and Alastor nodded slowly. 

"Yes, I see." He laboriously sat down on the other armchair. "I'll be frank with you here, lass: it's all a part of growing up. You're a mature young lady but knowing something and experiencing something can be completely different. It is, for example, the reason why everyone needs to make their own bad decisions. Simply being told about them won't be enough."

Hermione nodded shakily. "Yes, I know, thank you very much professor. I'm so glad Harry finally has someone on his side who isn't a wanted fugitive." 

Alastor looked at Harry with a frown but then his eyebrows rose up in recognition. "Of course– you're in contact with Black. That's who you aren't at liberty to talk about, it all makes sense now." 

"Oh no, Harry, I'm so sorry," Hermione whispered. "I know I wasn't supposed to tell anyone and now an _ auror _ knows!" 

Harry was just starting to get worried when Alastor waved his hand lazily through the air. "I'm an _ex_-auror, and I never believed Black was a death eater or betrayed his friends. He was headstrong and a brat but a traitor he was not. I trust he's somewhere safe?" 

"He told me he's safe and well-fed and that no one can find him," Harry said with a small smile. "Before you agreed to help me he wanted to come here to be close to me during the tournament. I'm just glad you were there for me, Alastor. Who knows where he might have ended up." 

"Always happy to keep innocent men out of Azkaban, me," Alastor told him with a toothy grin. "Now, what do you think about some more silent casting, Harry? Maybe your friend can give you a couple pointers from a learner's perspective again." 

Even though it was her first lesson in wordless casting, Hermione had the warming charm down pat until dinner. Alastor looked mightily impressed but when he saw Harry's crestfallen expression, he pulled him into a hug. 

"Now don't go comparing yourself to what is easily the most powerful witch I have ever encountered, Harry," Alastor cautioned him. "Down that road lies only bitterness and we don't want bitterness. Come on, Hermione, explain your thought processes to him." 

-o-

Hermione spent their way to dinner, their time during dinner and, in fact, the walk back from dinner sharing her exact thought processes with Harry. She would have probably still been talking his ear off if they hadn't met Viktor who'd been looking for her. Harry liked her, he really did, but he thought his ears must have started to bleed sometime between main course and dessert. 

He needed to not hear about her thought processes ever again. 

Thus, when he saw Luna waiting for him in front of the Defense classroom, Harry quickly whipped out his wand, levelled it at the shivering girl and concentrated hard on the feel of his magic thrumming under his skin. He heard Luna gasp and could practically watch her frozen hair thaw and curl a little at the ends. 

She beamed at him. 

"That was brilliant! Was this the first time you did it?" 

"I was very frustrated just now," Harry explained lamely and let himself be pulled along by Luna. 

"We have to tell Alastor, come on!" 

Judging by the smug grin Alastor wore when Harry shared his tale of woe, he was reasonably sure that this outcome had been what the man had planned for all along when he'd taught Hermione how to do silent casting. 

But for now, wrapped up in a celebratory hug between Alastor and Luna, Harry decided that this was the kind of manipulation he could live with. 

-o-

That evening, sitting cross-legged on his bed with the curtains drawn, Harry held a letter in his hands. Alastor had given it to him shortly before he'd left. 

He'd written a heartfelt thank you letter to Alastor's old mentor during the break, thanking the mysterious recluse for such a thoughtful gift and sharing how it'd saved his hide the night of the Yule ball. 

Being quite more nervous than he'd anticipated, he fumbled a little with the ornate wax seal while opening the envelope. It was the same creamy parchment again as last time and Harry eagerly unfolded the letter. 

_ Dear Harry, _

_ I was surprised about your thank you letter, but pleasantly so. _

_ Seeing you on the front page of the Prophet while exhibiting my gift to you to the world was a rare treat for one living as solitary as I. _

_ Since you've asked– it's not so much a family heirloom rather than something that is of great personal value to me. When I was a little older than you are now, these were my duelling robes gifted to me by a benefactor who could see my potential. _

_ I must admit: when my erstwhile pupil first told me about having taken you on as a pupil of his own, I was cautious with regards to your position in our world. _

_ However, he assures me you are a studious young man who is a far cry from being a spoiled little lordling as so many of your classmates seem to be. Thus, I gave him my blessing to continue your association. _

_ In time, should you decide to leave the manipulations of Albus Dumbledore and the prejudice and bigotry running rampant in Hogwarts behind after all and join my pupil, you and I shall meet as well. _

_ Until then I remain as but a _

_ Friend _

Harry grinned like a loon. Alastor's mysterious mentor wanted to meet him! He carefully refolded the letter and put it back in its envelope before putting it into his pouch that stayed next to his pillow. 

That night, sleep came easy and his dreams were silly, playful little things for once that had him rest with a smile on his face. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adventure! Adventure! Thrill! Adventure!
> 
> (also, there's a time jump. We let off in very early January last time and are now in the middle of February for those of you who think it's important to know the dates, like me :D)

When the second task was less than a week away Harry was, once again, about to go change into his wetsuit in Alastor's bathroom. It was a Saturday and they were planning on going swimming– well, _he_ was going to go swimming. Harry was already on his way towards the bathroom when Alastor stopped him. 

"We'll do it a little differently, this time," the man told him with a sly grin. "You've been asking me how swimming and using a warming charm is going to help when you've got to get to the bottom of the lake. Since you've been a good lad, waiting patiently when I told you to wait, I'll tell you now. Or, well, show you." 

Alastor dropped a slimy, stringy green mess into Harry's hand and the boy mustered it dubiously. 

"You _ know _ that I have no idea what this is," Harry drawled, a habit he'd picked up from Alastor. "Do I need to… eat it?" 

"This is gillyweed and you do indeed need to eat it," Alastor explained. "When you do, it will– not now, you brat!" 

Harry grinned and put the gillyweed down. "Oh lighten up, Alastor, I was merely having you on. It probably enables me to breathe underwater, yeah? So only eat it when close to water or you'll have to put me in the tub." 

"You're insufferable, Harry," Alastor huffed and crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Getting way too cheeky with your elders lately." 

Harry only laughed in response and left to go change into his wetsuit. "Can I try it today? Or do you only have enough for the task itself?"

"Remember when I told you to trust me and sign a receipt for something benefitting you at the beginning of the year? That's what this was about. Gillyweed is still frightfully expensive, so we only have two doses. One for today, one for the task." 

"Is the price why I've been practising with a wetsuit and everything, or did you want me to gain stamina?" 

"You're not going to become magically good at swimming and navigating in water just because you eat a magical plant that gives you gills and webbed feet," Alastor reprimanded him, "just like putting on the eye alone did not make a master spy out of you." 

"That's a good metaphor," Harry agreed and eyed the gillyweed again. "Let's do this!" 

-o-

Swimming was _ fun _ like this. Harry effortlessly dove through the water, navigating around rocks and seaweed jutting out from the steep slope of the banks of the lake. 

Breathing with gills felt like second nature and his webbed hands and feet propelled him through the murky water with ease. He was glad he'd spent so much time practising swimming since his arms and legs were now muscular enough to actually move him through the pressure crowding in from all sides. All in all, he was very thankful for the way Alastor had prepared him. 

If he'd known that gillyweed existed, he probably wouldn't have been quite as motivated to get fit. Spontaneously, he decided to emerge from the water and looked for the shadow of Alastor's boat up above. 

He saw it floating quite a ways away and Harry was surprised by the distance he'd crossed. He swam over as quick as he could and threw his hair back when he surfaced. 

Alastor cursed and drew back when he saw Harry. 

"You gave me a heart attack, you silly jock," the man growled at him. "Do you have any idea how long you've been down there? You know the eye doesn't work well in water!" 

Harry wanted to tell him that it was okay, that he was fine and had just been having a little too much fun. But with a start, he realised that he was making no sound and frowned. He also wasn't getting any air, or water, and it felt like drowning but in air? His body screamed at him to dive back under so he did, drawing in lungfuls of water until his heart rate had slowed down again. 

When he resurfaced, he leaned on the side of the boat, took Alastor's hand into his and squeezed it with a bright grin. His other hand gave a thumbs up and before the man could reply anything Harry was off again. 

He didn't know how much time he spent diving and frolicking in the water but he felt almost as free as he did when he was on a broom. Finally, after having explored the shallower regions of what felt like half the lake and fleeing from grindylows and watching schools of fish, Harry started having problems breathing so he quickly returned to the surface. 

Alastor's boat wasn't far off and Harry swam over to him. 

"That was _ brilliant,_" Harry declared and felt like his face might split open with the intensity of his enthusiasm. "You should have seen me swim away from the grindylows, and one time I think I saw the Giant Squid in the distance but I didn't investigate and I only needed the warming charm a couple of times because the gillyweed also helps against the cold and–" 

Harry interrupted himself when he realised that he was actually starting to freeze now, and with a vengeance to boot. Alastor eyed him with an unimpressed expression. 

"Your lips are blue, Harry," he declared drily and used a levitation charm to get him in the boat. "Stay down so you don't catch a cold from the draft." 

"What draf– woah!" 

Alastor used a strong wind charm to propel the boat towards the shore and Harry stayed down obediently. After they'd run ashore, they climbed out and Alastor conjured a thick fluffy dressing gown that he put around Harry's shoulders before wrapping his arm around him and leading him up to the school. 

-o-

The eve before the second task, a Thursday, Harry was a bundle of nerves. He was pacing in Alastor's office, up and down, up and down, while his mentor was the very epitome of calm, reading a book by the fireplace. He wondered when they'd be coming for his Firebolt, waiting in the dorm, dutifully put on his bed so they wouldn't search his things. 

A sudden knock on the door had them both startle in equal measure. 

"It's Krum," Alastor said warily and Harry went to open the door since the man had gotten rid of the leg again for the evening.

"Viktor," Harry greeted but the Bulgarian immediately walked past him.

"Hermione, vere is she? Is she here? Have you seen her?" He walked into the middle of the room and quickly scanned it. His accent was thicker than usual today, probably due to his agitation. 

"She isn't here, lad," Alastor told him with a frown. "Were you supposed to meet somewhere? Did she not turn up?" 

Viktor shook his head, expression stoic but eyes darting around frantically. "Dis is not like her," he muttered. 

"It's strange, you know?" Harry put on his thinking face. "I didn't see Hermione at dinner either and I was wondering whether she was with you. Come to think of it… I didn't see Luna, either!" 

Harry suddenly felt as if a bolt of lightning had struck him. He shared a disbelieving look with Alastor who looked equally as spooked while Viktor looked confused between the two. 

"Vat? Vat is it?" 

"They wouldn't," Harry tried to reassure himself. "Would they?" 

Alastor sighed deeply and put his book away. "I regret storing your map out of school bounds, Harry." He turned to Viktor. "You solved the egg puzzle, yes? Good. Remember how it said 'we've taken what you'll sorely miss'? It's not a _ what_, it's a _ who_." 

Hearing it stated so bluntly let all the colour drain out of Harry's face and Viktor himself looked rather peaky.

"You," Viktor said, pointing at Harry. "you vill vork together wiv me. I have stopped caring about vinning the tournament in this moment. Vat is your strategy? I saw you practice swimming but no bubble head charm." 

"I'll use gillyweed," Harry told him. "Gives me gills and webbed hands and feet. What about you?" 

"I'll transform my head into that of a shark," Viktor said, control over his pronunciation returning now that they were making plans. "Self-Transformation is taught to the upper levels in Durmstrang so I'm confident. Take a knife with you– we are not taking prisoners." 

Harry looked over to Alastor who looked like the cat that got the cream. "Your chances of survival have just increased tenfold, lad," he told Harry. "Come here, you two, we're going to talk some strategy." 

-o-

Standing at the shore of the Black Lake, Harry felt his heart pounding in his throat. He listened with only one ear as Bagman explained the rules to the audience and watched Fleur and Cedric realise just what, or rather who, was waiting for them down there. 

Harry whispered to them that they were sure that Luna and Hermione were their hostages and Cedric paled and whispered Cho's name. 

"But I didn't talk to Roger much after ze ball," Fleur explained hurriedly. "Did zey really put _ him _ down zere if all your dates are down zere? Who is down zere for me? Is it one of my friends?" 

Cedric, meanwhile, looked kind of green. "The _ bottom _ of the lake?" His voice sounded frail and Harry almost felt a pang of pity.

Instead, he felt relieved about being prepared and locked eyes with Alastor. He was wearing a knife that the man had given him strapped around his thigh– a great big serrated one that looked downright cruel. Since he could cast the warming charm wordlessly, he would use it on Viktor and himself periodically. Most important of all, the gillyweed in his left hand was his ticket to survival and Viktor was going to watch his back. 

This time, it was him who pulled Alastor into a crushing hug and the man returned it just as fiercely. 

"I'll be watching you as well as I can," he whispered into Harry's ear. "No heroics down there, and stay with Viktor. Follow his lead. I'll be waiting here for you and the minute I spot trouble, I'll _ accio _ all of you out of there if it's the last thing I do." 

Harry nodded, not trusting his voice enough to speak. He went back to Viktor who'd just now gotten rid of Karkaroff. He remembered his new friend sharing with them how he hated Karkaroff for trying to use Viktor's fame as a Quidditch player to raise his own standing. 

They stood next to each other during the countdown and the second the signal sounded, Harry started munching on the gillyweed while running into the frigid water. He was dimly aware of Viktor running next to him with his head already transformed and they dove under as one.

Immediately, Harry drew in a lungful of water and started swimming. He exchanged only one quick nod with Viktor and let his friend take the lead. 

Even without webbed hands or feet, the pace Viktor set was grueling and Harry followed as fast as he could. As planned, they followed the downward slope of the ground towards the bottom of the lake, low enough that the sea grass was threatening to tickle their bellies. 

Harry, who was wearing Hermione's christmas present around his ankle, felt the rune bracelet heat up against his skin after they'd been silently swimming for a couple of minutes and instinctively pulled his knife out. When a pale hand with frightful claws attached to it suddenly tried to make a grab for Viktor's leg Harry tried calling out and slashed blindly at it. A misty cloud of what he hoped wasn't blood but what else could it be, really, filled his vision (and his _ lungs_) and Viktor stopped, startled. 

He took in the scene behind him and nodded solemnly in thanks. They quickly continued on their way, ever down, but a bit further away from the sea grass. When Harry felt like they'd been at it for _ hours_, the slope evened out and became a vast, terrible wasteland of dancing patches of sea grass populated with crabs and fish and the odd shadow flitting about here and there. 

Viktor got out his wand, concentrated and Harry watched it spin in his hand and point to a direction in front of them. Harry cast another warming charm on both of them because even with the gillyweed it was _ frightfully _ cold all the way down and they continued on towards the direction the wand had pointed to. 

Viktor corrected their direction twice more and pretty soon, they came upon what Harry would call primitive stone buildings of a sort. There were pale, long faces looking at them out of caricatures of windows and doors but he paid no heed to them. 

In the equivalent of a village square, merpeople with spears in their hands and frowns on their faces were watching their approach warily. In their midst, four silent, unmoving figures were gently bobbing up and down. 

Harry kind of expected the merpeople to attack but it seemed they were content to watch them. It was indeed Hermione and Luna among the hostages, their faces deathly pale and Harry felt a shudder come over him. The other two hostages were Cho Chang and a small girl that had the same hair and facial structure as Fleur– a younger sister? 

Alastor had cautioned him to not use a warming charm on them lest they should be charmed to wake up when getting warmer. So he cast one last warming charm on Viktor and himself and they used the knives they had brought with them to cut their hostages free of their robes. 

Luna felt incredibly cold in his arms and Harry watched as Viktor stroked Hermione's no doubt equally as frigid cheek with a pained expression. They nodded at each other again after catching what amounted to their breaths for a second or two and simply started ascending vertically. 

They'd theorised yesterday that this was the way they would meet the least amount of nasty surprises. Harry also supposed that, if he were a nasty surprise himself, he wouldn't want to attack himself and Viktor because the look on Viktor's shark-face was as murderous as the one on Harry's own felt. 

He spared a half-thought for Cho and what he supposed was Fleur's sister and wondered what would happen if they weren't rescued in time. Would the merpeople just carry them back to the surface? Or would they really not come back like the song suggested? Now that he had Luna safe in his arms he dared think about consequences like that and the prospect was making his stomach churn. 

While he was following Viktor, lost in thought and just paddling upwards as fast as he could, he suddenly became aware of something heading right for them. Harry reached out and tugged at Viktor's foot. 

Viktor stopped and looked around wildly. When he saw the shadow heading towards them, he pushed Hermione in Harry's arms and brandished his wand in one hand and his knife in the other. (Later on, Harry would realise that it was this one moment of single-minded machismo and manliness that made him realise he'd quite prefer a prince to a princess.) 

When the shadow came nearer, Viktor relaxed and Harry peeked around him to see Cedric swimming towards them. He looked terrible– there was a bubblehead charm around his head but Cedric's lips were blue and he was shivering in a long-sleeve shirt and a pair of light trousers. 

Harry gave Hermione back to Viktor and sent a warming charm Cedric's way. The boy peaked up immediately and gave him a shaky nod in thanks. Harry pointed straight down and loosened the straps holding his knife to his thigh. He gave it to Cedric whose eyes grew wide behind the translucent bubble. 

Harry watched him strap it around his own thigh, cast another warming charm on the boy and watched him dive further down with a renewed air of determination. Viktor and him shared a short look of pity for Cedric and continued their journey upwards.

After some more time had passed, Harry could see the light rippling through the surface and made to breach only to realise that the gillyweed hadn't stopped working yet. He caught up with Viktor and pointed to his gills and then his left wrist. 

Viktor frowned for a moment but then his eyes widened in understanding. When they were just under the surface, Harry gave Luna over to Viktor and watched him broach the surface with them. Immediately, the girls started thrashing around and Harry had no choice but to emerge too and hold onto Luna again. 

She started screaming at the top of her lungs and fought against his hold on her. Viktor was having the same problem with Hermione who was clinging to him and pushing him away in equal measure while shivering violently. 

Harry looked around helplessly but they were still in the very middle of the lake. There was a boat in the distance that was closing in on them and Harry hoped to all heavens above that it was Alastor or someone else capable. 

Before too long, he had to dive under again to breathe and wondered how long it would take for the gillyweed to stop working. He tried casting a warming charm on Luna but she was still protesting and kicking him in the chest and leg and hammering on his chest with her little fists. 

Finally, a red light had her go slack in his arms again and he looked over to Viktor who was holding onto a stunned Hermione. 

"I had to, or they would have pulled us both down," Viktor explained and Harry nodded before diving down again and breathing underwater while trying to simultaneously hold Luna over the water. 

It felt like an eternity before the boat reached them and Harry thanked all the stars the Blacks were named after that it was indeed Alastor in it. 

Luna was lifted from his arms and pulled into the boat. Hermione followed suit and Alastor started immediately charming them with warming charms and some spells he remembered Madam Pomfrey using on him before. There was no space left in the boat and with Alastor busy, Harry and Viktor started paddling the boat towards the shore. 

Halfway there, the gillyweed stopped working and Harry felt the cold return to settle in his bones. 

"Can't believe how badly this is organised," he heard Alastor grumble from the boat. "Couple minutes longer and who _ knows _ what would have happened to them." 

Harry's heart started hammering harder in his chest and he quickened his desperate paddling. With him and Viktor paddling in unison, they'd reached the lakeshore in no time and were welcomed with thunderous applause they couldn't care less for. 

They helped Alastor carefully lift the girls out of the boat and put them on a hastily conjured thick blanket each. 

When the five judges started approaching, Harry could see Alastor's frown deepen but the man stayed occupied with Hermione and Luna. Harry and Viktor were standing beside them and were relieved when Madam Pomfrey came bustling over, passing the judges in her hurry. She was clutching a healer's pouch and started asking Alastor technical questions Harry didn't feel lucid enough to understand. 

To his surprise, she put thick, pre-warmed blankets around his and Viktor's shoulders too and he realised with a start that he was shivering violently. Viktor wasn't faring much better and even _ his _ lips were deep blue. The journey up from the bottom of the lake without warming charms had taken their toll on them and the desperate struggle to keep their friends above the water had apparently used up the last of their resources. 

Finally, Madam Pomfrey seemed pleased with the state of the girls and came over to the boys. The judges, who had so far kept their distance, began to come closer but Madam Pomfrey stopped short when she saw them. 

"You will get the other hostages out _ now_, Headmaster Dumbledore," Madam Pomfrey demanded. "These two girls are showing severe signs of hypothermia! You _ assured _ me they were well taken care of! Get Miss Chang and Miss Delacour out!" 

"Cedric was looking miserable when we met him," Harry said quickly and Madam Pomfrey's eyes zeroed in on him. "I hit him with a couple warming charms and gave him my knife but I don't know if he was able to reach the bottom." 

His voice sounded muffled and frosty, like someone speaking from beneath a mound of snow and the sensation of not feeling one's own lips was one he definitely wasn't used to. 

Dumbledore started to say something but was interrupted by the arrival of a tall, beautiful woman with long, flowing hair. 

"I couldn't 'elp but over'ear that zere are technical problems," she snapped with a cold voice. "My daughters are both down zere and you _ assured _ me zat Gabrielle would be fine. You will get zem out now, Mister Dumblydoor, or my husband, _ the French minister for magic_, will officially declare a state of war on magical Britain." 

Harry didn't know whether that was an empty threat but it looked like Dumbledore didn't want to take any chances. He quite looked like he'd bitten into a lemon instead of a lemon drop as he held his peculiar wand aloft. 

"_Accio Cedric Diggory, Accio Cho Chang, Accio Fleur Delacour, Accio Gabrielle Delacour._" 

For a while, nothing happened but then four bodies surged out of the water with a great splash. There was no screaming and as far as Harry could see, none of them were moving. He looked towards Dumbledore who was sporting a sheen of sweat on his brow from the magical exertion and detected a hint of worry on the old man's face. 

But before he could see the four up close, he found himself put on a stretcher and on his way towards the castle. There were three more stretchers floating beside him and he could see Alastor and Snape, of all people, walk beside them with their wands drawn. 

He allowed himself to finally drift off and welcomed the treacherous warmth of unconsciousness with relief. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, ALSO!
> 
> Guess what happens next chapter?
> 
> Stuff!


	10. Chapter 10

Waking up was hard. In fact, it felt like the hardest thing Harry had ever had to do in his _ life._ But he felt like he should, so–

The light was dimmed enough that it didn't hurt when he tried opening his eyes for the first time. He still had to blink several times before his vision cleared enough to actually see something but when he did, he became aware that he was, once again, in the hospital wing. He blindly reached for his glasses next to his pillow and put them on. 

There was an armchair next to his bed that looked like the ones in Alastor's office and Harry felt a pang of longing. It was currently unoccupied so he looked around some more. No privacy curtains were drawn at the moment so he could see that three other beds were occupied, all of them with one or more people holding vigil around them.

He tried sitting up but found he was too wrapped up in blankets to move much. His efforts seemed to be noticed, though, and very soon Madam Pomfrey came bustling over. 

"Welcome back, Mr. Potter, I'm glad you woke up," the matron cooed and started casting diagnostic spells on him before she continued. "I sent dear Alastor to get some food in himself but he should be back soon. He was so distraught, poor thing, but his quick actions may have saved Miss Granger and Miss Lovegood." 

"Me?" His voice felt croaky and hurt and Harry had to cough a little. 

"You suffered from moderate hypothermia," she explained. "You're still, technically speaking, suffering from it but you're getting better. Hypothermia is a tricky thing even for magical healing. You can't just instantly heat a liver or an intestine back up to working temperature. And try doing that with a finger, ha! All the little capillaries would _ explode._"

Harry nodded shakily and let himself be helped up into a sitting position by Madam Pomfrey. From that vantage point, Harry could make out Hermione and Viktor in beds on the other side of the infirmary and Luna on his side of the room. 

"Where's the others? Cedric and Cho? Fleur and her little sister?" 

"They're in St. Mungo's," Madam Pomfrey sighed. "Like I said, hypothermia can be volatile, and with how long they were down there, and woefully underprepared at that… well. It's lucky you made it out so quickly with your friends. Who knows how long it would have taken those _ judges _ to go looking for their wayward champions otherwise."

Harry nodded and looked towards the other beds again. His friends were still sleeping but the adults sitting around their beds looked up at him when they noticed him looking. 

Hermione's parents, sitting close to each other, waved at him with strained smiles and he waved back before quickly putting his arm back under his blankets. The man sitting next to Viktor's bed looked like an older version of Harry's friend and only looked up long enough to give him a grim nod. 

Luna's visitor had the same blonde hair as her and was so engrossed in his book that he didn't seem to notice Harry's gaze. He noticed with quiet delight that the man was reading his book just as upside-down as Luna was always reading hers. 

He let Madam Pomfrey give him a controlled dose of Pepper-Up Potion and coughed when the steam came out of his ears. Leaning back against the cushions, he allowed the matron to set up a long-time diagnosis charm and waited for Alastor to return. 

It didn't take him long, maybe five minutes, and Harry found his face threatening to split open with the intensity of his joy at seeing his mentor. Judging by the way the man's good eye widened and how his uneven gait quickened, the sentiment was very much returned. 

Instead of pulling him into their customary hug, though, Alastor merely fidgeted with his hands and sat down with an awkward: "Don't want to hurt you, lad." 

"How are Viktor and the girls?" Harry looked back towards the other occupied beds a little distance away. "Are they going to recover soon?" 

"Let's talk about them later," Alastor suggested. "How about you? I'm sorry I dealt with the girls first but I knew you would have wanted me to. You were still shivering– always a good sign with hypothermia. It's when they stop shivering that you need to start worrying." 

"I feel… sluggish," Harry told him after a quick think. "Waking up was like pulling myself through toffee with my arms and legs bound. Every movement is really exhausting. Is that going away soon?" 

"Not _ soon _soon, but soon enough. We'll get you up and moving again in no time," Alastor reassured him. "Is there anything I can get you? Some tea? Soup? I'll get you soup." 

Madam Pomfrey must have been listening because she came towards them again after checking on the other patients. 

"No, Alastor, you stay here. I'll bring Mr. Potter a nice chicken noodle soup shortly. You just make sure he eats it all, but slowly." 

"Alright, I can do that," Alastor confirmed. "I've had plenty of experience getting food into that boy." 

"At least _ someone _finally cares," Madam Pomfrey tutted and walked away towards her office. 

Harry blushed, like he always did when confronted with the realisation that he'd been dealt a shitty hand but a big, warm hand engulfed his own beneath the blankets and he allowed himself a small smile. Not anymore, Fate. 

-o-

Harry only stayed in the hospital wing until the next morning, a Saturday. Viktor was also released that same morning– the two had been in impeccable physical condition after months of rigorous training, after all, but the girls were supposed to stay until the following Monday, in time for class if possible. 

Viktor immediately migrated to Hermione's bedside after his release and Harry and Alastor spent time at both Luna's and Hermione's bedside. 

Luna's father, Xenophilius, was as ethereal and whimsical as his daughter was. But where she was eternal kindness and sunshine, he exuded a sort of righteous fury when they introduced themselves. He soon shared his woes with them after thanking them for making this his daughter's best year at Hogwarts yet. 

"They didn't even ask me whether they were allowed to put her into the lake," Xenophilius told them and shook his head. "I would have refused, of course, and I don't know why she accepted. I do hope she wakes up soon– and may Merlin have mercy on them if I find out she didn't consent and was taken anyways." 

"The Charms work must have been inadequate," Alastor theorised. "Not necessarily the technical part of it, but obviously someone didn't think this through. Who knows how long they'd been down there. Maybe the caster charmed them for an hour, hour and a half if generous, when it should have been way longer when taking transportation and the introduction of the second task into account."

"Whatever it is, I shall investigate and have the next edition of the Quibbler purely devoted to them failing all our children." Xenophilius' eyes were hard. "I've always been a defendant of Dumbledore's but I am _ disappointed _ in him for this. This should never have happened." 

Harry and Alastor only nodded and held vigil next to Luna's bed. 

When the Prophet came, Harry was almost mad it wasn't him on the front page because the alternative was so much worse. 

** _#TRAGEDY AT TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT#_ **

** _Daughters of French Minister for Magic in St. Mungo's_ **

The picture showed Fleur and her sister Gabrielle, both lying on the ground, unconscious, in front of the five judges who were looking shocked. 

The beautiful girls' long blonde hair was interwoven so much it was impossible to tell where Fleur's ended and Gabrielle's began. It looked like it could fit right in with the Renaissance paintings Harry had seen on a field trip during muggle primary school. 

Alastor read the article quickly and told them about this incident facilitating tension between British and French diplomats. Seemed like Mrs. Delacour had stayed true to her word after all. Dumbledore had gotten them out but they weren't in good condition. 

There was only a short mention of him and Viktor saving their hostages well within the time limit and the four of them still suffering from hypothermia. 

Unfortunately, Alastor didn't know much about the other four either (and didn't particularly seem to care much) so Harry resigned himself to waiting for official news. Shortly before lunch, Xenophilius shooed them out of the hospital wing. Apparently, he was quite the accomplished wizard and promised to send them a Patronus message should Luna or Hermione wake up. 

They went to Alastor's rooms, and walked very slowly. Harry still felt sore and so incredibly slow that he was amazed that they managed to get there at all. 

He wanted to immediately collapse into his armchair, but Alastor had him walk (shamble) further into his quarters until he was sitting on the man's bed. 

"Madam Pomfrey told you to take it very easy until your body has healed. You will rest here, and only return to your dorm once it's time for sleeping." 

Harry nodded dutifully and let himself flop back onto the mattress. "No protest from me, Alastor. I've never been happier about not having to move." 

"You can sleep all you want after lunch, lad," Alastor reminded him. "Up with you, I've even had your house elf friend prepare treacle tart for dessert." 

-o-

When it was time to return to his dorm, Harry heaved a heavy sigh. 

"I don't want to go back there," he complained. "I mean, I know I can't stay here, don't get me wrong, I just, well, wanted to have a bit of a whinge." 

"I do wish you could stay here, Harry, but we're toeing the line of inappropriateness as is." Harry watched the man fight internally with some sentiment or other. "You can return here tomorrow morning? But do sleep in, maybe put that privacy spell I showed you around your bed so you won't be disturbed. I'd even be happy to receive you by lunch if you manage to sleep that long." 

"Thanks, Alastor," Harry replied simply. "I'm really glad I got off relatively lightly with the second task. I couldn't have done that without you." 

He stepped forward, legs still somewhat shaky, and hugged Alastor around the neck. With a small, weary sigh the man returned the intimate hug and wrapped one arm around Harry's waist while using the other to cradle the back of his head. 

"I'll need to talk to you about something tomorrow," Alastor softly said into his hair. "But it's important, so I need you to be more rested than you are now." 

"Alright," Harry replied equally as softly. "You're not leaving me here, are you?" 

"No, never," Alastor promised. "I told you I wouldn't. I'll get you back to your Common Room– I don't want you alone in the corridors at night." 

"That reminds me, can I maybe have my map and my cloak back tomorrow?" 

"Yes, you may." Alastor hesitated. "It's part of why I need to talk to you, actually." 

"I've missed them but I still wish it had been a what instead of a who. I hope Cedric and the others will be fine." 

-o-

For once Harry's dreams were dreamless without the help of a dreamless sleep potion. The exhaustion he felt sat deep down inside his bones and had still not lifted entirely. 

Still, on Sunday morning he awoke more well-rested than he'd anticipated and was greeted with hazy sunlight filtering in when he lifted the privacy spell and opened his curtains. 

There was still snoring coming from the other beds and a quick _ tempus _ revealed it was not much later than 7 am. Harry snorted. Old habits died hard– he'd gotten up early ever since living with the Dursleys and Alastor had also stressed the importance of an early start of the day. (The only thing those two entities had in common now that he thought about it.) 

Harry knocked on Alastor's living quarters not a half hour later, properly groomed once more, and waited patiently for him to open the door. When he did, he looked still half-asleep and Harry felt his bad conscience knock at the back of his neck. 

"Oh no, you didn't get much sleep either the last couple of days, did you? I'm so sorry! I'll come back later." 

Alastor only shook his head and opened the door wide enough for him to enter. "Maybe it's better that I'm tired. Makes it easier to talk." 

"You have me a bit worried, Alastor," Harry admitted and followed the man through to his bedroom where they sat next to each other on the bed. "I didn't do anything wrong, did I?" 

"No, you didn't," Alastor sighed wearily. "But I did." 

Surely he didn't mean– Harry's heart started hammering in his chest. 

"If it's, uh," Harry started, unsure. "If it has to do with, ah, feelings? Inappropriateness? Then I think I might have done something wrong, too." 

He didn't dare look at Alastor and instead trained his gaze on the wall opposite him, face burning so hard he must have looked like the world's biggest tomato. 

"That's a part of the, well, problem at hand," Alastor admitted and when Harry dared glance at him from the corner of his eyes, he could see that Alastor was blushing, too, throwing his numerous scars in sharp relief. "I need to tell you a story now. Not a fairytale or anything, but a real one, about the last Wizarding War. And… I will need your wand. Will you put both mine and yours over by the window?" 

Harry was starting to get proper worried now but the pleading in Alastor's gaze he'd never seen there before made him nod instantly. 

When he sat back down on the bed, Alastor removed the leg and the eye and drew his remaining leg up to sit on the mattress, leaning against the footboard. Harry sat down opposite him, leaning against the headboard and resting his socked feet on either side of Alastor's good leg. 

"I'll start with a story about two of the judges in the tournament," Alastor declared after thinking for some time. "Bartemius Crouch Snr. and Igor Karkaroff. One the former head of the DMLE and the other a former Death Eater. Strange, how Fate throws two erstwhile enemies together like this, isn't it? You may wonder how a former Death Eater like Karkaroff landed the position of headmaster of one of the biggest magical schools in Europe– I honestly can't tell you. 

He's a coward, a traitor and a mediocre wizard at best. Want to know how he got free even though he was caught with a Dark Mark and didn't have enough money like Lucius Malfoy and his ilk to buy his freedom? He named as many names as he could of his fellow Death Eaters, thus ensuring his own survival and freedom. 

He didn't know many names. He wasn't part of the Dark Lord's Inner Circle and the Death Eaters mostly operated in autonomous cells during the war to protect the identities of their brothers and sisters. The war was over, though and Karkaroff had become privy to more than he should have become privy to.

Most of the names he knew were known already, but there was one trump card he had. One Death Eater who no one knew, no one even suspected. Bartemius Crouch Snr.'s own and only son, named after the father who spent more time in the ministry than other department heads combined: Bartemius Crouch Jr."

"Was his son a proper Death Eater, then? I've never heard about that!" 

"Oh, young Barty was a proper Death Eater alright, Dark Mark and everything. He was young, only 19 at the time, and present at Karkaroff's trial where his father was presiding. He was apprehended immediately afterwards and thrown into a holding cell. Karkaroff had accused him of taking part in the torture of aurors Frank and Alice Longbottom, your classmate Neville's parents, which turned them into shells due to prolonged exposure to the Cruciatus Curse."

"Is that why… Neville was raised by his gran?" Harry's hands flew to his mouth. "Poor Neville! Does he visit them? Oh, it must be so terrible to have parents but have them be incapacitated like that… did Mr. Crouch's son do that to them?" 

"No, he didn't," Alastor recounted. "You have heard of Bellatrix Lestrange née Black, Sirius' cousin? It was her and her alone, with her whipped husband and his equally as whipped brother standing watch. Well guess what? A house elf watched them and they were apprehended a while later when they got careless. 

But since he was desperate, Karkaroff used what information he had to paint a picture of the head of the DMLE's own son torturing aurors into insanity and the public _ lapped it up _ . The Prophet was little more than a witch hunt registry after the war and Crouch Snr. decided to try and save face. You see, he had been _ relentless _during the war. He authorised the usage of the three Unforgivables by aurors against suspected Death Eaters. 

And his own son, the enemy amongst them. He had ambitions to become minister for magic, Crouch Snr., but that revelation threw quite the wrench into his plans. To save his reputation, Crouch Snr. preceded his own son's trial and threw him into Azkaban for life on the word of a traitor. No veritaserum, a strong truth potion, nor asking that house elf witness whether Jnr. had been there in the first place with the Lestranges."

"Sirius didn't even _ have _ a trial, you know?" Harry felt a pang of sympathy. "The time after the war must have been terrible. I think it's unfair that people like Lucius Malfoy are free to walk even though they did the same things others did. I was thinking of becoming an auror like my dad and you this year, but lately I've been thinking I might become a law wizard? I have loads of money, so I could take on cases where the defendant doesn't have enough money to afford a lawyer and make sure that they are treated fairly and justly."

"Even if they are a Death Eater?" 

"Especially then!" Harry felt his passion for that idea surge. "The law, at least in the Muggle world, has to treat everyone equally. I think I want to make sure that the Wizarding World has to follow that rule, too." 

He watched Alastor bury his face in his hands. 

"Merlin, lad, where were you and your ideas 12 years ago? No wait, rotting at your relatives' house already, of course." Alastor chuckled without joy.

"But why tell me about Mr. Crouch, Alastor? And why now? I thought you, we, well. I know about people like me," he started anew. "I grew up in an abusive household, so my ideas about love and family are all wrong– it's in this book Hermione had me read. She insisted I do in case I start dating so I know what to look out for." 

He would have kept rambling, but Alastor's good foot tapped his legs and he stopped, looking at his mentor. 

"Barty Jr.s journey didn't end in Azkaban, Harry."

The way he said it had Harry's heart actually stutter in his chest. His voice was still deep but it sounded off, somehow. Foreign. But still familiar. 

"Where is he now?" Harry's own voice sounded foreign in his ears, too. All soft and vulnerable, scared. 

"I think you already know," Alastor whispered, "but let's follow his journey anyway. He was thrown into Azkaban by his father, and here's the best part, you know his cell neighbour: none other than your godfather, Sirius Black. They kept each other company, traded what stories they could remember– you should ask him about it sometime. 

Then, after a year had passed with Jr. steadily growing weaker, visitors arrive. Now, having visitors in Azkaban is practically unheard of, yet there they are. A witch and a wizard, dressed all prim and proper, stalking down the dirty, freezing corridors of Azkaban. You see, there's one person we haven't talked about yet. Jr.'s mother, who loved him fiercely and never forgave his father for throwing their only child into Azkaban. 

They switched. Dementors are blind and they never saw the deception. Even then, both mother and son drank Polyjuice Potion and the mother died in her son's stead. She was ill, you see, a bloodborne curse plaguing the women of the Greengrass line."

"Daphne Greengrass from Slytherin," Harry whispered. "My classmate… does she have it?" 

"You can't test for it," Alastor shrugged. "It starts manifesting in early adulthood, before their thirtieth year, and they never live long past forty if it does." 

"But that's terrible," Harry realised. "Daphne was never overtly mean to me… I hope she doesn't get it." 

"Me too," Alastor agreed. "She was Mrs. Crouch's niece." 

"So Barty Jr.s… cousin?" 

"Yes… But we digress. I'm afraid our ending is a little anticlimactic. When Crouch Snr. arrived home with his son, he put him under the Imperious curse, bound him to the family's house elf and had him lead a lonely, miserable existence for eleven years, hidden under an invisibility cloak all day and all night, constantly anxious his dirty little secret might be found out."

"Sounds like my life at the Dursleys," Harry shared with a weak little chuckle. "That must have been hell on earth…" 

"Oh, believe me, it was," Alastor agreed, face closed off and eyes downcast. 

Harry drew in a shaky breath because if there had been any doubt as to the identity of the man sitting in front of him, it evaporated this exact instant. 

He was sitting opposite a convicted Death Eater. The man he had spent half a year getting close to and confiding in, who had spent it helping him and caring for him in turn, was a convicted Death Eater. 

He felt like he should start hyperventilating and making a run for his wand _ right about now _ but it seemed silly, with Alastor sitting there like a lamb being led to the slaughter. 

"So you, uh, your actual name is Barty?" The question sounded lame even to his own ears and Harry cleared his throat awkwardly. "What… what else was a lie?" 

"Nothing," Alastor (?) was quick to assure him. "I genuinely cared about you ever since our talk on the Astronomy Tower and, and nothing I told you about taking you with me was a lie." 

"If I still wanted to at the end of the year," Harry remembered. "You knew you'd have to tell me eventually, of course." 

"I can hardly keep drinking Polyjuice Potion for the rest of my life," AlastorBarty said and took his flask out of his breast pocket, jiggling it so its contents splashed around. He threw it over to him. 

Harry caught it effortlessly and screwed the top off, taking a sniff. It smelled like nothing much, not disgusting like drinking the Goyle version had been in second year. 

"When are you going to change back?" 

"Any minute now," Alastor replied and crossed his arms self-consciously in front of his chest. Already, Harry could see the man's grey hair receding and turning a dirty blonde not unlike Luna's. 

His scars vanished, his nose grew back and became finer, his eyebrows turned paler and a second eye grew back into the empty eye socket, a deep cornflower blue like its twin. 

Alastor's whole body became a little thinner, a little shorter and he grunted in pain when the stump on his thigh started growing into a knee, a calf and finally a foot, all in the span of seconds. 

Soon enough, a young-ish man was sitting opposite Harry, his eyes clouded with worry and his arms still crossed. 

It was weird. It was the weirdest feeling Harry had ever experienced. Too many mixed emotions were warring in his mind and quite suddenly, his chest constricted so much that he felt like he did back in the lake, breathless and weightless, floating. 

There was no air coming into his lungs, no matter how hard he tried, and he felt himself clawing at his own throat, wanting it to draw in some much-needed air but it wasn't cooperating at _ all _ and his vision was going blurry now and–

Suddenly, an insistent press of glass was on his lips and a voice commanded him to drink, so Harry did and felt a sense of calm wash over him. Immediately, his lungs filled back with air and he sobbed in relief. 

There were arms around his shaking shoulders and Harry let them comfort him, pressed his face into the chest in front of him, even if it belonged to a Death Eater. A mentor. A friend. He felt like his life was falling apart and held on to the one man who'd been his rock for the past half a year. 

Who was supposed to be his future.

Where would this revelation leave them? The uncertainty had Harry sob even harder and he hated it and he hated Alastor Moody and Barty Crouch Jr. and yet never wanted to let go. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't headcanon David Tennant as Barty btw because frankly, I didn't care for his portrayal of my baby. When I write, I see a shorter version of Bradley James who played Arthur in Merlin :>
> 
> Oh, and Barty's and Luna's mums being Greengrasses is my own headcanon as well. Both Astoria and Barty's mum die early from ~mysterious causes/bloodborne diseases~ so I'm fairly certain it makes sense internally!
> 
> Also aww, my babies are having a difficult talk, just hug it out my loves ;;


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, my whole family is sick. Including my li'l baby ;;
> 
> Probably no update next week guys <3

Harry had no idea how long he'd spent sobbing into Barty Crouch Jr.'s chest: a man he didn't know who was his best friend. 

Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, Harry's sobs turned into weak little hiccups and he sat up from where they'd lain entangled on Alastor's bed. Barty's bed. This was going to be so confusing. 

Barty stayed in a half-lying position, propped up by the pillows, and let Harry's inquisitive gaze wash over him. He even let Harry touch his nose - whole, perfect, no big chunk missing - and watched impassively as Harry gently prodded at the formerly missing right leg. 

"Does it hurt a lot when it grows back?" 

"Hurts worse when it disappears into my thigh," Barty said in a small voice, refusing to meet his gaze. "I'm, I, I don't know what to even say to you, Harry. I've been dreading this moment ever since I got to know you properly. I told myself there was time, that I could always tell you later, and I clung to that like a lifeline. I wasn't _ supposed _ to start liking you, and you weren't supposed to start liking _ me._ I was old and gnarled and rough, I played my part properly, and you looked past all that and cared for me as much as I started caring for you and– and now everything is a mess. I wasn't even supposed to tell you my real identity and who knows what will happen when he finds out, but I _ couldn't_. I just couldn't watch you fall in love with an act, even if it is the end of me."

Harry blushed furiously and felt his eyes go wide. 

"You knew?" 

"Of course I knew," Barty groaned, his slender fingers combing viciously through his blonde hair. "I'm, I, I mean, I was _ jealous. _Of him, of _ myself _ and it's the strangest feeling, I swear to Merlin. I couldn't, Harry, I _ needed _ to tell you, no matter the outcome." 

"I… appreciate that," Harry found himself say. "So you're what, 32 now?" 

Barty nodded warily. "Yeah, I'll, uh, turn 33 in August. Look, don't get me wrong, Harry, but, all in all, you're taking this a _ lot _ better than I'd even dared hope for. I'll be blunt here. I'm a Death Eater, here's my Dark Mark, I served Lord Voldemort and I spent time in Azkaban for it." 

"I _ do _have many questions," Harry defended his strange calmness weakly. "For example… did you kill anybody?" 

"Yes." 

"In battle or innocents?" 

"In battles. I killed three aurors in two battles. I mostly did research and the war ended not too long after I became a Death Eater so I never saw much… _ action_, if you want to call it that." 

"How are you such a powerful wizard if you've spent so much time as a prisoner?" Harry cursed himself for not knowing what to ask. If he'd been Hermione, he'd know all the right questions for sure! 

"I spent all my time in the family library," Barty told him. "The Crouches are no Noble Family, but they are old and the library was huge. My… so-called father bought me books, too, when I was good. I learned a lot during that time and I think it kept me sane. I don't know how Sirius did it– all that time in Azkaban and judging by what you told me, he's surprisingly fine? Maybe his innocence really did save him…"

"Speaking of the Crouches, why is your father still free? Using the Imperious Curse is against the law, isn't it? Yet he was there on Friday… shouldn't he be on trial now?" 

"He's the one under the Imperious now, and, well, no one knows about him using the Imperious curse on me," Barty reminded him. 

"Wait, you mentioned a house elf… Winky!? I met her at the Quidditch World Championship and Mr. Crouch released her because she didn't do her job properly and, and for casting a Dark Mark but house elves can't use wands." He was off the bed in an instant, pointing a finger at Barty. "You! It was you! You stole my wand and cast the Dark Mark in the sky! You were there, that evening!" 

"A rare treat," Barty said in that same toneless voice he'd been using. "Winky persuaded my father to allow me to watch the World Cup because I'd been behaving and because my mother had wished for me to be free once more… He was livid when we returned home. That night, he used the Cruciatus curse on me for the first time. I have never felt more powerless in my life… being under the Cruciatus while simultaneously under the Imperious is the _ worst _ thing you can imagine. Not even Lord Voldemort stooped so low. You can't scream, you can't move, you can only feel the pain bite into your nerves and– _ fuck_."

Harry saw Barty begin to shake and watched with trepidation how the grown man in front of him started crying into his hands all of a sudden. He was unsure what to do. This was a _ Death Eater._ Who'd stolen his wand and cast the Dark Mark into the sky. Who'd lied to him for _ months. _

And who was now crying because he was sorry for lying to him and because he'd been tortured by a relative who'd felt disgusted by his very existence (and didn't that one hit close to home?)

Who had been there for him when no one else was. 

Who had been a friend. Who had promised to take him away even though he knew– right. 

Harry went back to the bed, crawled over to Barty and gently pried his hands from his face. The man's dark blue eyes were red, his face splotchy and Harry still wasn't used to the sight of it. He greedily drank in the new features and watched Barty's pupils nervously flit around, all while still heaving with broken little sobs he very obviously felt terribly ashamed of. 

So Harry did what AlastorBarty had done for him countless times by now. He threw caution to the wind and climbed into Barty's lap, straddling his thighs and pulling the man's upper body forward until his head was tucked under Harry's chin. 

"Shh," he cooed, "shhh, I know, it's a terrible situation. I'm not leaving, okay? I'm staying right here until we've talked about all of this, yeah? You weren't yourself, maybe, but you were there for me, anyway, and… and we'll cross all the other bridges when we come to them, right?"

In lieu of a response, Barty clung to Harry's back and sobbed into his chest, shaking with the power of it wracking through his body. 

"You've been bottling everything up for so many years, Barty," Harry told him, testing the new name on his tongue cautiously. "Barty… Barty. You weren't _ much _ older than I am now when you were put into Azkaban. We both had our own private hells, didn't we?" 

"I hate my name so much," Barty whispered into his chest and Harry cradled the back of the man's head like he often did for him. "But when _ you _ use it, it's almost okay." 

"I'll make you like it, Barty," Harry promised. "I think it suits you." 

"You're entirely too good for this world," Barty complained without heat and his hands were slowly stroking up and down Harry's back. "You say you'll make me like it… in the future, you mean? You don't plan on turning me in?" 

"You thought I was going to turn you in and told me anyway?" 

"I _ had _hoped you'd grant me a head start," Barty shrugged, leaning back to look into Harry's face. "You perfect little thing, you. It didn't even cross your mind to betray me." 

Barty had stopped crying now, opting instead to watch Harry with a wondrous expression on his boyish face. One of Barty's hands was hovering awkwardly next to his face and Harry quickly pressed his cheek into it before he could chicken out. 

"You're my friend," Harry reiterated and felt Barty's hand tremble on his cheek. "D-death Eater or not. You've been nothing but kind to me." 

His eyes fluttered shut when Barty's thumb started gently stroking his cheek, wiping the traces of tears from earlier away. 

"Look at us, crying our eyes out like a couple of fools," Barty chuckled weakly, resting his forehead against Harry's. "I need to thank you for not freaking out on me too bad. For being the way you are. Kind. Loyal. Brave. Such a Gryffindor…" 

"What were you?" 

"A Ravenclaw, like Luna," Barty said. "Little Luna… She'd just been born when I was incarcerated. Her mother was also a Greengrass, the youngest sister. My mother Guinevere was the eldest daughter. Daphne's father, Gawain, is my uncle, he was the second youngest but the heir because he's a boy. Luna's mother Pandora was the youngest, my aunt."

"So Luna is your cousin, too?" 

Barty nodded shakily. "I haven't let myself think about that properly. I had to be Moody, I couldn't let myself slip. Dumbledore has been suspicious enough of me as it is, for being so close to you. Thankfully, he believed me when I told him that I chose to be your mentor to prepare you to face Lord Voldemort and we left it at that." Barty rested their foreheads together again. "You should eat something– _we_ should eat something. Growing an eye and a leg every day costs my body a _lot_ of energy. I can hardly keep up with all the calories I need."

Harry decided Barty _ was _ rather thin.

"I think it suits you," he told him. "And it was you, wasn't it? Carrying me to bed after I fell asleep on you?" 

"You called me a prince," Barty whispered. "I've never been called a prince before in my _ life_. I'm just– me. Average. A quick mind, an old name and that's it." 

"For me, you're a prince," Harry repeated. "I wouldn't have made it this far without you, and I resent your former girlfriends for not realising your status as a prince."

Barty spluttered. "I've never had a girlfriend!" 

"Boyfriends then." 

"Never had one of those, either," Barty said, blushing furiously. "I wasn't, I mean, there was no time and, and no one who–" 

Harry's eyes grew wide. "No way! Does that mean you're a–" 

"**_We haven't had breakfast_**," Barty interrupted him and wiggled out from under his legs. "We really should eat something. Now. Right now. Stuffing our faces with food and no talking whatsoever." 

He snapped his fingers and a veritable buffet of a breakfast appeared on the low table in the middle of the room. Harry decided to humour him. Wasn't his business anyway whether his oldnew friend was a virgin or not. It wasn't like he himself had any experience. Hell, he hadn't even kissed anyone. 

"Have you ever kissed anyone?" The question was out of his mouth before his mind had quite caught up and he saw Barty freeze. 

"No," the man answered, cautious. "I was… very studious when I was younger, not unlike Hermione is now. 12 O.W.L.s, 7 N.E.W.T.s… all to make my old man proud. I had no time for, well, dalliances. Why do you ask, Harry?" 

His name out of Barty's mouth sounded so different than when Alastor had said it. It was no less nice, to have it spoken with so much care, as if it was a fragile thing that needed to be protected and cherished.

"Would you like to? Kiss anyone, I mean?" 

Barty's eyes flickered down towards Harry's mouth, then up again, and he watched the man swallow audibly. 

"Don't, Harry," Barty cautioned. "Don't, don't tempt me. You are too young– I may be a Death Eater but I'm not a _ monster._ While our age difference is a lot smaller than it was yesterday, and it feels _ very _ weird to say that, I'm still, what, eighteen years older than you? You're not even fifteen yet!"

"I read a book about this," Harry argued. "There's always been cases of big age differences between Wizarding couples to keep the bloodlines alive. The official age of consent in wizarding society is 14 years old and I'll be properly of age in a little more than two years!"

"You read a book about this?" 

Harry blushed. "Well it's not like I necessarily planned on _ acting _on any of it," he bristled. "But I liked Alastor, too, when, uh, when you were him, and I just… wanted to check, I guess." 

"Oh Merlin, you had a proper crush on Alastor Moody, didn't you," Barty realised. "He was missing a nose, an eye, a leg, scars all over. I sometimes frightened myself when I looked into the _ mirror,_ Harry!" 

"I didn't care about any of that," Harry said forcefully and watched Barty actually take a step back. "I cared about him being nice to me, _ you _ being nice to me. You were kind, and loyal, and you stood by me. You believed what I told you and you promised to give me a home when you realised how bad I have it at my relatives' house. You like spending time with me, I like spending time with you– should I go on?"

Gathering up all his Gryffindor courage, Harry stepped close to Barty once again, slowly raising his arms and settling them around the man's neck in an echo of their tender embrace from yesterday. Barty swallowed, hesitated, but put his arms around Harry's waist after all. 

"Harry," he breathed, looking down at him with fire burning in his eyes. "Harry… you… please don't do anything you'll regret." 

"I won't," Harry promised and stood on his tiptoes to press his lips gently against Barty's. 

Barty whimpered a little when their mouths met and pressed back against his lips before they parted again. 

"You kissed me," Barty whispered, one hand touching his own lips disbelievingly. 

"Yeah," Harry agreed, grinning like a loon and itching to do it again. 

"You actually kissed me!" 

Barty grabbed a gentle hold of the sides of Harry's face and kissed him deeply, purposefully and Harry felt his stomach fluttering– was that those butterflies people kept going on about? 

"You don't realise how long I've been wanting to do this," Barty told him reverently and Harry opened his eyes again. "I've been keeping myself from doing this for _ months_, ever since, ha, late december I guess. You were so achingly beautiful when you fell asleep in my lap, I thought I'd have to drop dead on the spot. And then you called me your prince, and you did it again earlier and now I kissed you with my own lips."

Harry thought his chest might burst with the intensity of what he was feeling. 

"I like your lips," he told Barty with what felt like the world's most stupidest grin but Barty actually blushed at the praise and hid his face in Harry's neck. 

"You don't understand what you're doing to me," Barty told him with a groan, "but I can't help but feel like a dirty old man, holding you like this." 

"Nineteen to like thirty hardly count in your case, so you're really only about twenty." 

"I'm afraid it doesn't work like that," Barty laughed, standing up straight again. 

Gosh, but he was so _ tall_. Not frighteningly tall, like Sirius was, but proper tall nonetheless. He was a little shorter than Alastor, of course, but his lankier frame sure made him seem taller. Harry thought he didn't mind being so much shorter seeing as he could tuck himself delightfully snugly into Barty's side. 

"Breakfast," Barty reminded him, holding him close and stroking the back of his head in the way he knew Harry liked so much. 

"We really ought to, now," Harry agreed and stepped back. 

Barty looked happy and flushed with a dopey grin on his oval face. Harry decided that it was a look that suited him and vowed to put it there as often as he could. 

Harry sort of flopped down onto his cushion and watched Barty do the same. Without hesitation, he got up again and pulled his cushion around the table to sit next to Barty. He sat so close that their thighs touched and felt Barty nudge him with a shoulder. 

"Stop being cute," Barty accused him. "Remember, I'm a big scary Death Eater and I could eat you up any time."

"Right now you're a big scary Death Eater who should eat up his breakfast," Harry deadpanned and Barty gasped in mock-indignation. 

"_Somebody _ has been entirely too lenient with you," Barty snarked and stuffed a buttered roll in his face. 

"Probably you," Harry snarked back and spooned porridge into his mouth.

-o-

When they were done eating breakfast, Barty simply flopped onto his back. "It's so nice to be myself," he sighed. "Moody's body is falling apart, I don't know how he copes. It's constant pain day in, day out."

"Why impersonate him anyway? And where is he? You didn't kill him, did you?" 

"He's alive," Barty reassured him. "He's currently sleeping in his own trunk, right over there in the office." 

Harry felt really sick all of a sudden. "What! The poor man!" 

"Oh, don't worry about him. I gave him Draught of Living Death, puts the body into a kind of stasis. When he wakes up, it'll feel like no time passed at all. I made him comfortable, too, in a bed and all. Merlin knows he could need the rest in his retirement. I have a house elf, Winky actually, take care of him."

"It's still against the law," Harry countered weakly. 

"I'm a fugitive on the run even though no one knows I'm still alive. Your godfather is a fugitive on the run, too. You killed a man in your first year here, which is also technically speaking against the law. It's all a matter of perspective, really." 

Harry nodded slowly, considering. "I can't really fault that logic and I'm not inclined to try. Will you give him the antidote and release him afterwards?" Barty nodded. "Good. But… release him after _ what _? Why are you here? Merlin knows I'm glad about it, but… why? Did you want to get close to your father during the tournament?" 

"Fuck," Barty cursed, heartfelt. "I really, uh, I knew I'd need to tell you eventually. I sincerely hope you won't regret kissing me because I think it would actually break my heart." 

"No pressure, huh?" Harry wondered what could be so bad that it would make him stop liking the man who'd been so kind to him. "Tell me." 

Barty was up and moving again in a flash, pacing up and down. 

"Please don't freak out," he said after a while of furious thinking. "It will sound really, really bad at first but I _ promise _it'll all make sense." 

"Oh no, it's about _ him_," Harry realised in a split-second of clairvoyance and his scar flashed in brief pain as his heart rate accelerated. "It's Voldemort, you still serve him." 

"The wizard I told you about? Who taught me all I knew and who sent you those robes?" Barty swallowed audibly in the silence that stretched between them. "That's, uh, _ him_, actually." 

The compulsion charm that had been put on the letters he'd received from his mysterious _ friend _lifted with this revelation and Harry remembered where he'd seen the handwriting before. The diary. Second year. It all made sense now. 

"You're here because you need something," Harry deduced, eyes wide. "You… you want to bring him back! That's why I've been having these dreams! Why do you want to bring him back!? You're nice and kind and _ wonderful _ and Voldemort is anything but!" 

He jumped up from the cushion he'd been lounging on, furtively glancing to where their wands rested. 

"Oh but Harry, he isn't!" Barty was pleading now, tugging at his hair again. "History is written by the winners– of course he killed people, _ I _ killed people, hell, _ you _ killed people. You saw him in the diary, didn't you? He was charming, nice, he was just a normal boy like you. He was still charming when he was older, why do you think people, wealthy Purebloods at that, flocked to his banner? He promised change and progress while still staying true to the roots of Magical Britain and his followers wanted it desperately."

"He wanted to kill all the muggleborn," Harry protested, not quite believing the direction this day had taken. "What about that? He would kill _ Hermione_!" 

"It was never about killing muggleborn, Harry, Lord Voldemort himself is a Halfblood like you!" 

That had whatever retort Harry wanted to dish out get stuck in his throat. 

"He's a Halfblood?" he asked tonelessly. 

"His real name's Tom Marvolo Riddle, you remember? He was… named after his father, Thomas Riddle, a muggle." Harry thought his eyes couldn't get any wider than they were right now. "Have you met or read about any other Riddles while in the wizarding world?" 

"I thought it was like with Hitler," Harry awkwardly explained. "After the Second World War, most people called Hitler changed their last names and I thought they'd done the same in the magical world with Riddle, I guess?" 

Barty shook his head with the ghost of a fond expression on his face. "Not quite, no. His mother was a poor but pureblooded witch who fell in love with a muggle and was consequently cast out by her family. She gave birth on the steps of an orphanage and died from complications afterwards. Her last wish was to have him named after his father and maternal grandfather. Riddle is a muggle name."

"But he… was a Slytherin, right? And he grew up in an orphanage? So he didn't even know that he had magic until his letter arrived and while he was in Slytherin, he thought he was a muggleborn…" 

"Yes… it wasn't easy, at first. He went to Hogwarts during the Second World War to top it all off. Remember how you told me that you asked Dumbledore to stay here during the summer before? Yeah. My master did, too. Wool's Orphanage was located right in London and that son of a hag Albus _ bloody _ Dumbledore sent him back there each summer during the Blitzkrieg."

"Oh no," Harry whispered and imagined a boy about his age with dark locks and wide eyes clinging to a wand he wasn't allowed to use while all around him, walls shook and the ground trembled. 

"That fear… left a mark on him," Barty explained, voice hesitant. "Lord Voldemort is not only an anagram but also a, well, an admission of sorts. It translates as flight from death."

"He's that terrified of dying? That's so sad," Harry whispered and couldn't believe it was Voldemort they were talking about. "And yet he killed so many people… did he really think that was somehow going to save him?" 

Barty shrugged. "I'm not sure. I know much about him because he liked me and shared things with me but I don't know all his secrets or motivations. He came and saved me from my father last year, you know? Once he found out I'm still alive, that is. He's temporarily living in a small golem body until we can, I mean, until we have all we need to bring him back."

Harry was surprised by how calm he was when he started his next line of questioning. "He killed my parents, Barty, and he tried to kill me. I thought you liked me? How can you like me if you also like the man who tried to kill me?" 

"Ah, another Pandora's box we haven't opened yet," Barty nodded with a pained grin. 

What followed was an explanation about the prophecy that had been given about him and Voldemort to Dumbledore and how it had reached the Dark Lord via one Severus Snape. 

Harry balled his hands into fists. 

"So Voldemort came after my family because he was afraid of dying by my hands, as foretold in that prophecy?" A shaky nod from Barty. "And Snape told him of the prophecy… If Dumbledore knew it, why didn't he tell my parents?" 

"They went into hiding at his behest but I don't think he told them about there being a prophecy. I mean, he hasn't even told _ you _ about it yet, has he?" 

Harry felt his gaze darken. "No, he hasn't. I wonder what else he hasn't told me." 

"I'm, I'd understand if you need time alone to process all this. I think I've covered the most important points. If you want, I can leave you alone here and I'll go into the office. Just, if you do decide to reveal my real identity, please consider that head start, yeah?" 

"I'm not going to rat you out," Harry reassured him with a tired smile and his heart gave a tug at the relief he saw in Barty's face. "And… I don't think I want to be alone right now. I still feel kinda sluggish and sore from Friday, so maybe I can just lay down a little and you keep me company?" 

-o-

In the end, Harry ended up lying on the bed on his side, face to the wall, while Barty leaned against the headboard behind him and lazily carded a hand through Harry's hair. 

"It's strange," Harry whispered into the silence between them and Barty's hand stilled momentarily. "Not that. I mean, how calm I am. It's not just the fatigue talking, you know? I really am… _ very _ calm about this, now that I've had a little time to process it." He paused. "Everything's changed between us, but on the other hand, it's still the same? I mean, you're still the same person I fe– the same person I got to know so well."

He blushed because wow, it was _ way _ too early for what he'd almost said just now. Hermione had told him that it'd taken her and Viktor more than two _ months _ after their first kiss to actually say the L-word. 

"I'm relieved and confused," Barty confided in him. "I… didn't imagine this day would go like this. At all. I've got everything packed and ready, actually. See that broom next to the window? I was gonna make my escape with that." 

"You fly?" Harry was sitting in no time. "You said you loved Quidditch! Did you play? What was your position?" 

"I was a Chaser in my fourth year," Barty told him, confused. "Not the worst one, but I had to resign in fifth year because of all the classes I was taking. I haven't flown much since my school days, obviously, but… we can fly together some time, if you want." 

"I'd love that! We could maybe fly over the mountains some day and–"

Harry didn't get further than that because a shining, golden goose came waddling through the closed door and both he and Barty went running for their wands on the windowsill before they'd even processed what was happening. 

"Madam Pomfrey has woken up Hermione and Luna, Professor Moody," Xenophilius' disembodied voice informed them and they both heaved a sigh of relief. 

"That was… yeah. You know, the more time I spend as Moody, the more I can sympathise with the constant vigilance thing," Barty complained.

"You'll have to change back," Harry realised. "I was just getting used to, well, _ you_." 

"From now on, I can be myself whenever we're alone," Barty promised, grabbing both their wands and handing Harry his back. 

"Are you actually casting with Moody's wand? I thought only the wand's chosen wizard could work powerful magic with it." 

"You only have to want it enough," Barty shrugged. "I was not only like Hermione with regards to taking all those classes, you know? I also learned spells as quick as her, had enough raw power to cast even advanced magic… I do miss my own wand, though. It's been broken, of course. Maybe I'll get a new one that's just for me again, one of those days."

"I'd like that a lot," Harry pondered. "I'll help you if I can. The real Alastor Moody is going to want his own wand back eventually. I just hope he won't be too mad." 

"Well, I talked to him quite a lot in the beginning. He's pretty mad, actually… but he'll come out stronger. He's tough!" 

"It's gonna be so weird, seeing him," Harry mused. "I mean, he'll look like you looked? That's going to take some time to get used to. I bet he's gonna hate me so much if he finds out I knew your identity."

Harry stilled immediately when a terrible thought struck him and Barty looked at him with a worried expression. 

"What? What is it?" 

"They're all gonna hate me so much when they find out I, that I'm… knowingly hiding a death eater." 

Instead of paling too much upon this revelation, Barty's worried expression changed to one of pity. 

"Luna wouldn't," Barty told him. "Hermione wouldn't either if you explained everything to her. Sirius doesn't have anyone left in this world but you. Who else matters?" 

That somehow felt like a terrible blow and Harry shrugged uneasily against the bottomless pit opening up in his stomach. 

"Wow, I… I guess you're right," he admitted in a whisper. "No one else cares…" 

"I care," Barty promised and held out his hand. 

Harry nodded shakily and took the proffered hand with clammy, shaking fingers. "Yeah, I, I know. Thanks, Barty…" He swallowed hard and tried to put on a brave face. "Let's go visit the girls." 

What a strange world where a death eater was the only one standing between the Boy-Who-Lived and a bottomless pit of despair. 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We pick up where we left off:
> 
> Barty finally revealed himself to Harry and things turned out better than he expected!
> 
> They made up and Harry kissed him uvu And then Barty actually kissed him back with lots of guilt because woWwWw Harry is young..!
> 
> Xenophilius has just alerted them with his magnificent goose patronus that Luna and Hermione finally woke up. They had spent about a day and a half in a magically-induced coma because of their hypothermia from the second task.
> 
> The boys are on their way to the hospital wing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I'm back! This isn't abandoned but I'm naughty and have lots of projects :D
> 
> I'm glad all of you liked chapter 11 so much <3

Luna and Hermione were both sitting in their beds unaided when Harry and Barty, again disguised as Alastor, entered the hospital wing. 

After hugging both girls fiercely, Harry offered a manly handshake to Viktor who pushed his hand away and pulled him into a strong embrace. 

"We are brothers now," Viktor told him with a solemn expression and a hand clasped on his shoulder. "Bonds forged in battle are not easily broken." 

"I… uh, appreciate that," Harry replied with a choked up voice and left Viktor and Hermione to catch up. 

"I'm glad you saved us, Harry Potter," Luna said with a gentle smile. "It was terribly cold down there." 

"Why did you guys even agree?" Harry sat down next to Xenophilius and watched Barty take the seat on the other side of Luna's bed. 

"I'd like to know that, too," Xenophilius said with a dangerous voice. "Don't misunderstand me, precious Luna, I'm not blaming you. I want to know how they _ coerced _ you. You are smarter than this." 

Luna fiddled with the hem of her blanket and refused to meet their eyes. 

"If anyone threatened you," Barty said, voice stern but empathetic, "I can go with you to the DMLE to make a statement." 

"Nobody threatened me," she shrugged, voice small and shoulders hunched. "Alastor, they said… they said that since Hermione was Viktor's hostage, I was the only other candidate for Harry apart from you. I couldn't let them take _ you _ to the bottom of the Lake."

"That **is **coercion," Xenophilius thundered and Hermione, Viktor and her parents looked over to them in shock. 

"Be at peace, Xenophilius," Barty shushed the eccentric man. "Luna, I wouldn't have gone willingly. You shouldn't have let them—no. No victim blaming. _ They _ shouldn't have done that."

"I was afraid they might take little Dobby next if both you and I said no," Luna admitted, her big blue eyes glassy with the threat of tears. 

It was this moment, so reminiscent of seeing Barty crying earlier, that made Harry realise that both Luna and Barty in his own body had the exact same eye colour. He saw Daphne in them, too, and had to force himself to swallow. A Greengrass trait then? 

"I won't stand for this," Xenophilius seethed. "The champions being in danger is one thing—apart from young Harry here, they all volunteered. But _ minors _ being put in mortal danger is another matter entirely. I shall interview all the champions and hostages who are willing and run a huge exposé in the next _ Quibbler_!"

"You go, daddy," Luna agreed with a wobbly smile and noisily blew her nose in a handkerchief. 

"And I'll have Bagman's and Crouch's heads, too," Xenophilius vowed. "This tournament should have stayed safely contained within the coffers of history. And hopefully, after yet another debacle, it will stay there indefinitely." 

Harry stayed with Luna and Hermione until dinner which the two were sadly unable to attend. Madam Pomfrey promised to release them in time for class the next morning, so Harry made his way towards the Great Hall with only Barty at his side. 

"Nervous to face the masses again, Harry?" Barty's voice was a little more like his own when he spoke softly like this and Harry wondered how on earth the man could make his voice sound like Moody's in the first place. "Want to go eat in my office?" 

"Sooner or later, I'll have to face them," Harry sighed, steeling himself. "I'll just have to be a brave little lion." 

Barty snorted and nodded. "Alright, you do that."

The entry hall was largely empty since most students were already eating and Harry's stomach made a weird somersault when he imagined how many pairs of eyes were going to swivel into his direction very soon. 

Just as Barty and him were about to enter, a hand landed on Harry's shoulder and when he turned, Viktor was there. 

"I eat with you today, friend," Viktor told him with a wink and Harry felt incredibly relieved. 

"That would actually be the best, Viktor, thank you!" 

They said goodbye to Barty and made their way over to the end of the Gryffindor table where only some third and second years were sitting. Harry ducked his head as he was eating and happily listened to Viktor telling him about how cold Durmstrang was and how glad he was that spring was nearing now for his friends back home. 

-o-

The next week passed in a blur. Thanks to all the homework he'd postponed in favour of training to survive the second task, Harry spent most of his time in the library to catch up. 

That was also exactly where Friday afternoon found him, hunched over his Transfiguration book in deep concentration. 

"You know, Harry, I think Daddy is going to pull me from school," Luna suddenly told him out of the blue. 

"What? What? No! What?!" 

"Shhhh," came Madam Pince's insistent shushing from three rows of bookshelves down. Harry ducked his head and decided to whisper.

"Luna, what? Are you sure? How can you be sure? Did he say that?"

So far, Luna had been working on her Potions homework but Harry saw now that half the parchment was filled with scribbled stars and fireworks. 

"He said we'd have to think of the future," she shared with a far-away look on her face. "He talked to Alastor and was told about the other students being mean to me. He wasn't happy…" 

"Oh Luna," Harry groaned. "He didn't know?" 

Luna shrugged and rubbed at her eyes with her dainty wrist. "I didn't want to burden him, you know? Ever since mummy… well. You know. It's been _ hard _ for him, Harry Potter. He loved her very much." 

"As did you," Harry replied with a sigh and started gathering his stuff. "Come on, I still have some sweets left over from Christmas. I'll share them with you." 

On their way to the tower, Luna had her arm looped in his and leaned her head on his shoulder. 

"You know, I've had the most peculiar dream while I was unconscious," she whispered so softly that Harry almost couldn't hear her. "I dreamed there was this long, thin hand reaching for you. It was very pale. At first, I thought it was a dementor what with your reaction to them, but I don't think it was."

Harry swallowed and wondered, not for the first time, just how far Luna's gift went. 

"Well that's not unsettling at all," he quipped and was relieved to hear her laugh.

"It's probably nothing but I thought I'd tell you anyway," she said. 

-o-

That evening, Barty wasn't at dinner. They hadn't had much time for each other during the week, both busy with catching up with their actual work now that the task was over, so Harry decided to go visit him. 

Alas, there was no reaction when he knocked and even after he'd waited and knocked some more, no one opened. Harry surreptitiously checked the map but Barty wasn't in his quarters. There was only Alastor Moody, still hidden in the secret compartment of his own trunk. 

Harry sighed and sat down on the steps leading to the office but try as he might, he couldn't find Barty anywhere on the map. Harry was almost inclined to worry but told himself that Barty was a big bad death eater who was probably able to care for himself, thank you very much. 

Not for the first time that week, he shuddered when he thought about how people might react if they found out that Harry was friendly with an active death eater. And not just friendly—head over heels! Absolutely smitten! 

His face felt very hot and Harry quickly buried it in his hands. He was even worse than Lavender or Parvati when they had a crush on one of the older students. He told himself to get a grip and stuffed the map back into his satchel after deactivating it. 

Barty probably had some important things to do like procure more potion ingredients or prepare something for their training for the third task. 

But for all he told himself not to worry, that night sleep came as hard to Harry as it used to back when he still had no one in his corner. He kept tossing and turning until he finally fell into a restless sleep sometime after midnight. 

Unfortunately, even that brief respite brought him no true rest since he quickly found himself looking down at someone who was shivering in front of him. 

_ "It's an easy enough question, Barty," Harry's voice told the kneeling man coldly. "I understood your reasoning to keep the boy close and to make sure that he performed well, but what I've seen in your mind…" _

_ "I can explain, my lord," Barty replied, voice shaking. "I didn't mean to get as close to him as I did but… he's so different from what we expected. You saw him in my memories, you know what I mean, my lord! He's just… a normal kid. Clever and brave and everything but also painfully normal." _

_ "He's the enemy, Barty, even if you like him," Harry's voice hissed, unyielding. "Would you want him to give his blood to me willingly and risk the ritual? Your _ feelings _ have clouded your vision, Barty, and I am sorely disappointed in you and your conduct." _

_ Barty shrunk in on himself and there were tears in his eyes now. "Master, I–" _

_ "I freed you from your father's prison and _ this _ is how you thank me? By falling in love with my nemesis? Don't protest, Barty, I have seen your heart and I know it to be true." _

_ Voldemort, for who else could it be, Harry knew, twirled his wand between his little golem fingers and finally pointed it at Barty. Harry wanted to stop him but no matter how much he tried, the hand holding the wand wouldn't budge. _

_ "I give you one chance to denounce him, Barty, for you have heretofore been ever loyal to me," Harry's voice granted and Barty swallowed. _

_ "I can't my lord, but… I have another idea for the ritual," Barty rushed out and the wand moved to point towards the ceiling. _

_ "You do? Why, pray tell and enlighten me." _

_ "We don't use Harry for the ritual. Instead, we work with him to bring us someone else..." _

Harry woke up with a start and _ screamed. _His scar burned like fire and no matter how hard he pressed his palm on it, the pain still persisted in splitting his head apart. 

He'd had a dream and Barty had been there and judging by the pain in his scar, Voldemort must have been there, too! What if he'd hurt Barty for being close to him? If he could only remember properly—

When no further recollection came to him, Harry cancelled the protective, noise-cancelling spell around his bed and went to take a shower to hopefully clear his head. 

-o-

Barty stayed away all day Saturday (Harry checked his map every couple hours) and hadn't arrived back in time for dinner either. 

Harry sat with Luna and Hermione at the Gryffindor table. For some reason, none of the Durmstrang students were at dinner either and Hermione was a mess of frazzled nerves. 

"Do you think something happened to Viktor? Or the ship? What if the ship got a hole in its hull and now it's at the bottom of the lake!?" 

"Viktor would have the best chance of surviving out of all of them, Mione," Harry shrugged. "He's got experience with that, after all." 

Hermione didn't look mollified in the slightest, but before she could say anything, the doors to the Great Hall opened and the Durmstrang students entered. Viktor was there, too, and Hermione sighed in relief. 

Instead of sitting down to eat, they walked up to the head table as one group until reaching the stairs. From there on, Viktor alone ascended and spoke to Dumbledore in a soft voice. 

The old wizard nodded gravely and gave instructions to Professors McGonagall and Snape who promptly left the hall through the staff entrance. 

"I bet it's Karkaroff," Hermione whispered to him and Luna. "Normally, they all enter together. Viktor told me Karkaroff spends most of every weekend drinking in Hogsmeade, so maybe he didn't return." 

Harry thought that that sounded exactly like what might have happened, only that it might not be Karkaroff's own fault. He was immensely thankful that Barty wasn't the only one missing from the head table. Flitwick, Madam Maxime, Sinistra and Vector were all not in attendance either so his empty seat didn't stick out. 

He couldn't be sure, of course, but there was a little voice in his head that told him he was right in his deductions. 

-o-

The next morning, Barty was there at breakfast. It was all Harry could do to not rush towards the head table. The man didn't look up from his plate but his magical eye immediately fixated on Harry and whirred around like an excited puppy. 

Harry grinned, ducked his head and followed Hermione to the Gryffindor table. From what he could tell at a distance, Barty looked tired. If his dream had been true, the man must have been with Voldemort the past couple days and wasn't that a weird thought to wrap his head around?

Since he'd managed to finish most of his overdue homework with Hermione's help yesterday, he planned on spending the day with the man. Maybe take a walk around the lake or get that flying done they'd talked about. Just get to know him some more, free of his Moody prison. 

While congratulating himself for that terrible pun, Harry was surprised when an unfamiliar tawny owl landed next to his bowl of porridge with a smallish package tied to its leg. Remembering his lessons, Harry used what detection spells he could do and relieved the owl of its burden when all came back clear. 

He fed the bird some bacon and started unwrapping the package. Maybe Barty had sent it? Or Sirius? Might have even been Hagrid. 

When Harry had unwrapped the paper, he was left with a wooden box with holes drilled into it. Or magicked into it. A sense of dread washed over him and he looked up at Hermione. 

"Did you… order anything, Harry?" she asked cautiously and pulled out her wand when Harry numbly shook his head.

She nodded at him and he counted to three before throwing back the lid of the box. There, on the ground of the otherwise empty box, lay Scabbers. _ Pettigrew. _ The rat seemed to be unconscious and a hot rush of emotions rolled over Harry. 

There was a ringing in his ears and he was distantly aware of Hermione saying something but all he could do was stare at the miserable rat who'd cost him his parents. 

All around them, students got to their feet. They must have sensed something was wrong and when Harry could finally tear his eyes away from the rat, he saw Ron being restrained by Dean and Seamus. 

"—kill that bloody rat for deceiving me for three damned years!" 

"Mr Weasley!" McGonagall thundered and started to come towards their table. "I will not have you speak like that in the Great Hall! 10 points from Gryffindor." 

And then, at exactly this moment, Harry knew he had to be quick. If he went to Dumbledore with the package, the old wizard would tell him about the power of forgiveness. If he went to the aurors, bureaucracy would take _ ages _ to achieve anything. Who knew what else could go wrong? Maybe the rat would _ escape _again! 

No, he would have to do this himself. People needed to _ see _ him. 

He grabbed the dreaded rat and started running. Ducking under McGonagall's outstretched arm, he climbed the stairs to the head table two at a time and faced his fellow students with a racing heart and not enough air in his lungs. 

On instinct, he dumped the rat on the ground in front of him which already had some of the girls screaming. Next, he raised his wand, pointed it at the rat and screamed with the pent-up fury of thirteen years: "_HOMORPHUS_!" 

The rat turned into a human in front of over a thousand pairs of eyes and Harry had never felt so validated in his _ life _ than when all the students immediately started pointing. 

"I'll kill him!" Harry heard Ron shout and looked over toward the Gryffindor table. "Blasted Pettigrew! I'll make him suffer for deceiving my family, let me at him!" 

"Pettigrew? _ Peter _Pettigrew?" another older student asked. 

"So he really _ was _ an animagus like Potter said!?" 

"Wait, does that mean Black is innocent after all?"

"Someone needs to get the aurors!"

They were all shouting over each other now and when Harry looked over at the staff table, he saw Snape glare at him and glared right back.

"You knew it and you saw him! You could have cleared it up but didn't!" Harry accused him with unrestrained anger in his voice. Next, he turned toward Dumbledore. "I would like to call the aurors, headmaster Dumbledore." 

With the attention of every student and professor in the whole school on him, Dumbledore could do little but nod. 

"They will be called, Mr Potter," he assured him. "Until then, I will take Mr Pettigrew with me to–" 

"Oh I don't think so, Albus," Harry heard Barty say from behind him. "This is now an official auror investigation and moving this man could be construed as obstruction of justice. I'll watch over him until my old colleagues arrive. Ask them to send capable men and women, and make sure they bring anti-animagus cuffs." 

Harry was almost sure that Dumbledore would object, but he simply nodded again and let himself be led away by Snape instead. 

Meanwhile, McGonagall cleared the hall off all students except Hermione, Luna and Viktor who wouldn't budge and instead ran toward him. Hermione almost bowled him over with the force of her hug and Harry held onto her with everything he had.

She let go of him only to grab his shoulders and stare into his eyes. "Do you realise what this means, Harry? Sirius will finally be exonerated! There's no way anyone can stop that now!" 

Harry had refused to entertain that thought until Hermione had voiced it but now that it was there, it took root somewhere deep inside his heart and made his whole body tingle with happiness. 

"Sirius will be free," he whispered and couldn't believe his own voice.

He looked at Barty whose good eye winked at him. Had that been why he'd been gone for so long? Had he managed to persuade Voldemort to give up Pettigrew in order to… to what? 

Harry blushed. Was this a _ favour? _

-o-

Lunch had already passed by the time the aurors had left Hogwarts. Harry felt tired and wrung out like one of his old cleaning rags at the Dursley's place. A hot spike of warmth passed through him at the thought that he would never have to return to them ever again. 

"You alright there, Harry?" Barty asked with Moody's voice and nudged his shoulder. 

Since Harry was an orphan, Barty had been with him when he'd given his statement to the aurors. Apparently, Barty had been very conscientious in his preparations and even knew the aurors by name. They had even promised to work on the case as diligently and quickly as possible! 

"Just a bit overwhelmed, I guess. Can we go to your office to talk? I have a lot on my mind." 

Barty's expression softened. "Sure," he replied and laboriously got out of the uncomfortable wooden chair he'd been sitting on for over an hour. 

The aurors had commandeered a couple unused classrooms on the third floor to interview Ron, Hermione, Harry and some teachers and everyone had sat in the same chairs the students always used. 

Harry half hoped enduring the straight-backed, ancient chairs for a while would make the teachers consider making some adjustments in the future. 

The walk to the Defense classroom wasn't long and once the door to Barty's office had closed behind them, Harry finally felt like he could breathe again. 

It was strange to be alone once more with his mentor. 

"How long until…" Harry started awkwardly, roughly gesturing towards the flask hidden in Barty's left breast pocket. 

"Any time now, I've been playing it close today." 

"Missed me, huh?" Harry grinned and was surprised to see a blush rise on the man's cheeks. "Oh, you really did!" 

"Of course I really did, you brat," Barty groused, voice already back to his own. "Here, hold this please." 

Harry accepted the magical eye just as Barty began to change back into himself and hurried to get the leg off in time. Finally healthy and whole again, the man crossed the distance between them and pulled Harry into a big hug. 

"Glad I'm back," Barty mumbled into his hair and embraced him even tighter. "As you can tell by the newest development, things have been rather hectic for me." 

"You could have told me you were leaving," Harry told him and leaned back to look at Barty with a cross expression he'd learned from Hermione. 

"I'm sorry, I really am, but since I didn't have your fancy map anymore I didn't know where you were and… I had to leave in a bit of a hurry."

"Did he torture you?" 

"What? Why would he—no, why would _ you— _" Barty took a long look at him and frowned. "You told me about that dream you had… Did you have another one?" 

Harry nodded haltingly. "Yeah, I saw you with him but I don't remember any details. I only know that he was… Well, it wasn't proper anger, it was more… disappointment?" 

"He… he could tell something wasn't kosher when I didn't give him updates during the last week so he, uh, took it upon himself to call me to him." Barty walked over towards the armchairs and sat down in his. "He looked into my mind and, well…" 

"He wasn't pleased that I kissed you." 

"It was more along the lines of not being pleased I kissed you _ back,_" Barty shrugged and caught Harry around the waist when he walked to get to his own armchair. 

Sitting sideways on Barty's lap, Harry grinned despite the day he'd had and rested his head on Barty's shoulder. He could have sworn he heard the man sigh and noticed how Barty's hold on him tightened.

"Is he… jealous?" Harry asked cautiously and Barty spluttered. 

"No, he's, wow, he's not the type to get jealous over, uh, personal relationships, I should think," Barty explained and laughed nervously. "It was quite hard to convince him that you being on our side is as much in _ his _ favour as it is in _ your _ favour." 

"Is that why it took you so long?" 

"Part of it, yes. I also persuaded him that sending you a token of his good will would do wonders for your opinion of him." Barty ran his hand through his hair before putting it back on Harry's waist. "Of course once he'd been assured of the good merit of that idea, nothing but the best would do." 

Harry leaned back and looked at Barty with an unimpressed expression. "So he sent me _ Wormtail_?" Harry asked with disgust. 

Barty fondly rolled his eyes and pushed Harry's head back onto his shoulder. "No, you brat. He sent you the means to exonerate your godfather." 

"Oh," Harry realised, eyes wide. "Of course he thought of that. That's… actually really nice of him? Wow."

Harry took a moment to digest that it had been Voldemort's intention from the start to help him prove Sirius' innocence. Meanwhile, Barty began to card his hand through the hair at the nape of Harry's neck and he practically melted into the touch. 

"But he was really weak when I saw him… how is he going to take care of himself?" 

"Your bleeding heart will be the end of you one day, Harry Potter," Barty teased. "Don't worry, my Lord is well taken care of by one who once deserted him." 

"Karkaroff," Harry whispered. "So it was you after all who took him from Hogsmeade when he was drunk!"

"Mmmh, looks like my lessons in deductive reasoning have not been in vain. It's Karkaroff, yeah. I hope your friend Viktor won't miss him?" 

"Oh, definitely not," Harry snorted. "Viktor hates him for being so nice to him for being famous while treating the others like crap." 

"Yeah, sounds just like him. He had to be… persuaded a little, of course," Barty explained. "My master's magic isn't yet strong enough to hold an Imperious course for an indefinite amount of time so I was the one to cast it. I'll have to return there from time to time to recast it." 

"Could you give him a message from me?"

Barty didn't provide an answer immediately and Harry was too content to listen to the man's heartbeat to pester him for one. 

Finally, Barty prodded at him until Harry sat up and looked him in the eye. Harry couldn't make out his expression and frowned. "Are you alright?" 

"There is…" Barty cleared his throat and started again. "He told me to, uhm, extend an invitation. There is a Hogsmeade weekend coming up in March and… he thinks it's high time you two had a conversation where you didn't try to kill each other." 

"He wants to _meet_ me?" Harry asked and felt his heart speed up. "Voldemort wants to _talk_ to me?" 

"He trusts my judgment," Barty explained, "and he's… intrigued. Much rides on this, Harry. He's my Lord and I can't and won't defy him but I also can't imagine not seeing you again, or worse: only seeing you as an enemy." 

Harry understood the veiled revelation. If Voldemort and him were to remain enemies, Barty and Harry would not be… whatever it was they currently were anymore. 

Without wasting much more thought on the matter, Harry nodded eagerly. 

"Yeah sure, I'll go meet him!" 

Barty looked at him as if he'd sprouted a second head. "Harry, that's not a decision you should take lightly!" 

"Well, what do you expect me to say," Harry replied, slightly confused. "I obviously hate the idea of not seeing you again and you will be there to look out for me, right?" 

"You're such a bloody _ Gryffindor_!" Barty threw his arms in the air but grinned nevertheless. "Alright. We'll go meet him together."

"Together," Harry repeated and put his head back on Barty's shoulder. "I can't wait!" 

"Well _ I _ could," Barty sighed and held him close again. 

Harry burrowed closer to him and wondered what being face to face with Voldemort would be like. 

"Can you tell me a story? How about _ your _ first time meeting him?" 

"Oh? Yeah, sure, I suppose…" Barty was quiet for a moment, collecting his thoughts most likely. "Right... so, as you know by now, my father and myself had a rather strained relationship. Back then, it was mostly borne of a demanding father not happy with the son he was dealt instead of outright hatred like it is now. Anyways. I was still in school, and to, well, rebel I guess, I had taken to stealing reports from my father's desk during breaks and sending them to my master over the course of the school year. So one day, it was this windy day during winter break –"

Harry relaxed while listening to Barty's story and marvelled at how this year had turned out for him. If he was being honest with himself, he couldn't wait for March!

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope to have the next chapter out by the end of the year <3


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back at work after a year of parental leave and I'm currently terrible at replying to comments until things are settled down :(
> 
> I cherish all of them so much though, you guys are the best ;;

A few days after Peter Pettigrew had been apprehended by the aurors, another big news story broke.

Cedric and Cho were to return to school that week but Fleur and her sister Gabrielle would be staying in France until the next task of the tournament. Apparently, Veela being of a fire alignment meant that the wet cold of the lake had weakened them greatly and the Scottish weather was deemed too risky for their continued recovery. 

The next day, without so much as a by your leave, the whole Beauxbatons contingent had left and the Ravenclaw table looked strangely empty when Harry went to sit with Luna at breakfast. 

"So much for intercultural ties, hm?" Harry asked with a wry grin. 

"Hm? What do you mean?" Luna looked up at him with her wide eyes and cocked her head. 

"The Beauxbatons students… They left because of Fleur and Gabrielle staying home in France." 

Luna frowned and looked down the table. "Oh really? I hadn't noticed." She looked back down at her book and continued plucking some grapes to nibble on. 

Harry smiled fondly and started putting some toast on his plate. While doing so, he surreptitiously glanced up at the head table and blushed a little when his eyes met Barty's. He couldn't wait for the Hogsmeade weekend. 

"Don't you think Alastor's a little old, Harry?" Luna asked while still reading. "Not that I'd mind, of course, I only want you to be happy after all, but I _ did _ wonder."

With a startled squeak, Harry looked around them but they were sitting isolated near to the head of the Ravenclaw table. Luna was mostly up early and her housemates made a wide berth around her for some reason. 

"What are you talking about," he hissed, very softly. "What's he too old for?" 

"You, of course," Luna answered, more quiet this time. "Don't get me wrong, mummy and daddy also had an age gap of fifteen years, but you're at least forty years apart? Fifty?" 

"Luna!" Harry whispered, scandalised, before he realised that she wasn't that far off the mark from her point of view and oh _ bother. _

He chanced another glance up at the head table. Barty was looking away from them, talking to Professor Vector to his right, but the magical eye was watching him. 

"He's just my mentor," he finally told her, hunching in on himself.

"If you ever need to talk, you can come to me, Harry Potter," she simply replied with an encouraging smile. "Also, you have Herbology out in the greenhouses now and it's getting late."

"Shoot," Harry cursed and grabbed his bag and another piece of toast. "See you later, Luna!" 

He left the castle in a hurry and was surprised to find that the grounds were awash in sunlight before him. It was getting warmer again and spring seemed to finally thaw the permafrost Hogwarts found itself in every winter. 

At least it had been his first winter with properly warm clothing, Harry supposed while he made his way towards the greenhouses. Up ahead, he saw Malfoy's blonde head, flanked as always by Crabbe and Goyle who seemed to grow bigger and burlier by the month. 

Strangely, alone as he was now, Harry wasn't even afraid of Malfoy and his cronies anymore. He wondered how the other boy would react, knowing Harry was to meet his father's old leader not as an enemy but as… an acquaintance? 

That thought put a smile on his face for the rest of the morning. 

-o-

At the start of the next week, Cedric and Cho entered the Great Hall together to an almost tumultuous applause from the other students. A chorus of "Cedric, Cedric, Cedric!" followed them until they sat at their respective tables and were swarmed by their friends. 

By how uncomfortable Cedric and Cho had looked, Harry guessed that this grand entrance hadn't exactly been their idea. 

After breakfast, on the way to Transfiguration, somebody called his name and Harry turned around with his wand already in his hand. 

Turned out it was just Cedric. 

"Harry," the other boy greeted, "it's so good to see that you and your friends are well. I wanted to thank you personally for helping me down in the lake." 

"Oh," Harry replied lamely. "Anyone would have done that."

Cedric shook his head. "No, Harry, it's a competition. What you did was very fair and that last warming charm while I was going down might have just saved my life. So thank you!" 

Before Harry had quite registered what was about to happen, Cedric had pulled him into a tight embrace that Harry returned almost automatically. He was really getting the hang of this lately! 

"Don't worry about what the other students are saying about you, Harry," Cedric said and held him an arm's length away by his shoulders. "I know you're a good guy, and they'll know too, in time. I know you never wanted any of this." 

"I really didn't," Harry replied because he didn't know what else to say. "I'm glad Professor Moody took pity on me last November." 

"Me too. If he hadn't, maybe all of us would still be lying at the bottom of the lake," Cedric laughed wrily. "I should send him a gift basket or something. 'To the only sensible adult in this whole castle. Thank you, Cedric Diggory.'" 

"You're an adult too," Harry reminded him with a smile and Cedric laughed in that very handsome way he had. 

Gods, Harry realised, he was _ so incredibly gay. _

Suddenly, Cedric stopped laughing and looked at Harry with a contemplative expression. "I just realised, Harry… They told us that only wizards and witches of age are allowed to take part in the tournament but when your name was called out, you _ still _ had to participate." 

"Are you suggesting…" Harry stopped that sentence there and looked at Cedric with wide eyes.

"I know that you live with your muggle relatives," Cedric told him, solemnly. "It might be in your best interest to look into the specifics of the contract binding us to the tournament. Maybe you're in luck and are actually considered legally of age now?" 

Harry could only stare in response. Being of age would immediately take care of roughly 99% of his problems relating to the summer; even if Sirius' exoneration was going to take longer than until the beginning of summer. 

He could just go wherever he wanted, unhindered by well-meaning old meddlers -- live in the Leaky Cauldron like in the summer before third year. Or maybe… a pale, freckled face with blue eyes and blonde hair swam into his view and he felt his stomach fluttering. 

"That… is actually the best idea I've heard in a very long while," Harry grinned before paling when he remembered where he'd been headed. "But I have Transfiguration now and I need to be going!" 

"Dang, I have Potions!" Cedric realised equally as flustered and they parted ways by running into opposite directions. 

-o-

That afternoon, some time after classes were over, Harry knocked on the door to the Defense office excitedly. When the door opened, he immediately slipped through the crack and threw his arms around Barty's neck. 

Barty, who was still wearing Moody's face, seemed a little overwhelmed by the enthusiasm but returned the hug nonetheless. 

"What brought this on?" he asked, laughing. "I'll need to stay in this body for now, by the way. There might be other students coming by later and changing back twice a day needlessly is too much for my poor body." 

"Doesn't matter to me," Harry shrugged. "I like you no matter your form. But listen! I just talked to Cedric and he reminded me that the tournament is only for wizards of age! He said I might be able to be legally declared as 'of age' thanks to having to compete despite _ not _ being of age."

Barty regarded him with a surprised look on his face before he slowly nodded. "Yes, yes. That… that could very well be your legal ticket out of the Dursleys' place. I mean, we would have taken you regardless, had you asked, but I'm wanted for enough things as is, I suppose." 

"Not all of them true," Harry reminded him and felt a surge of warmth rush through him when he realised once more that he'd have been safe in any case. 

"But enough of them true that I wouldn't stand a chance. When they get me, it's a straight, one-way ticket to a Dementor's Kiss for me." 

"I wouldn't let them do that," Harry promised. "And Voldemort wouldn't either." 

"I sure hope it's in either your hands or his," Barty replied, shuddering. "I don't think my mind could cope with being imprisoned once more, and waiting for a _ Kiss _ no less! Anyway, I'll get a copy of the contract and we'll take it with us next weekend. My legal knowledge isn't the best and my master might be able to find us a loophole."

"Strange how you might have done me a favour by entering me into the tournament," Harry mused. "Oh by the way, should I bring anything? Like, a gift? He gave me the robes and the traitor… What would you even give a Dark Lord?" 

Barty regarded Harry with a speculative glance. 

"Well, as you know from your visions, he doesn't exactly… have much in the ways of worldly possessions at the moment. I suppose anything given with no ulterior motive would be received favourably."

Harry nodded and thought about what to get for his (former?) nemesis when a thought struck him. "Wait, I would have an ulterior motive. I'd want him to ideally not kill me. Maybe even kinda like me? I mean, we took everything from each other… a bouquet of flowers would hardly cut it, would it?" 

"You're overthinking this, Harry." Barty told him and pulled him back into an embrace. "We have a deal, him and me. He won't hurt you while you're under my protection. He needs me, he knows that. 

Maybe, hm, get him some new robes. Proper good ones, so he has something to wear after his resurrection. We're a little short on cash since all we got is my teacher's salary as Moody. At least the bastard is paranoid enough not to have a Gringotts vault so I get paid cash."

"Oh! We could do that before we leave for wherever we'll meet him. There's a tailor in Hogsmeade where I got all my new clothes." Harry happily thought about how nice it was to own fitting clothes that also looked good on him and was already planning his outfit for next Saturday. "Oh, do _ you _ have clothes? Other than Moody's, I mean. If there's something there that might fit your actual body, we could get that too!" 

Harry didn't quite understand why Barty suddenly clung even tighter to him. It took him a moment to remember that, just like him, Barty probably hadn't had well-fitting clothes for well over a decade. Not to mention those rags prisoners were forced to wear in Azkaban! 

"And once we're done and Voldemort gets you exonerated, or at least glamoured enough so that no one knows your real identity, I'll buy you a whole wardrobe full of all the clothes you like! Did the Potters have houses? I bet they did. I bet I can access them if the whole of age thing works out!"

Harry was almost vibrating with excitement and started pacing around the office. 

"We could live there! You and me, I mean. You don't really have anywhere else to go, do you? You could teach me there and after I've passed my O.W.L.s and my N.E.W.T.s, we'll just keep living there. What do you want to do for work? You could just stay home, of course, apparently I'm _ loaded _ so you'd–" Harry's rambling was interrupted when Barty put a finger on his lips. With a shy grin, Harry hunched in on himself. "Sorry." 

Barty simply shook his head. "No, don't be sorry."

When Harry looked closely, he could see that Barty was smiling. It was a fond yet impish little grin of a smile that looked strangely out of place on Moody's face now that he'd seen it on Barty's. 

"You're an impossible boy, Harry Potter, and you're everything I never thought you'd be. I'd expected to hate your very existence, and yet here I am, leading the golden boy astray… the chosen one… leading him right into the viper's nest."

Barty was slowly advancing toward him with a glint of _ something _ in his eyes and Harry played the game with a grin by retreating until his back hit the wall. Moody's towering form with Barty's wry grin _ did _ something to Harry and his arms snaked around the man's neck almost of their own accord. 

The office suddenly felt really small and confined when Barty's arm rested next to Harry's head on the wall. The man's other hand came to rest on Harry's hip with firm yet gentle pressure and Harry's breath hitched. 

"The viper's nest, huh? You're forgetting that I can talk to snakes," Harry whispered because anything louder seemed obscene in close quarters such as this. 

"How could I," Barty groaned, voice entirely his own, and let his forehead rest against Harry's. "It's as if Fate herself has plucked you from the stream of history. A proper young hero, and yet here you are… wilfully fraternising with the enemy." 

"You're not my enemy," Harry replied boldly, cocking his head to the side. "You're way too nice to be an enemy." 

"Guilty as charged, I suppose," Barty sighed, mouth now very close to Harry's ear. 

With a grin, Harry reached out a hand to put it on Barty's cheek. But before he could even touch skin, the man's magical eye started whirring and the other went wide. 

"Don't make a _ sound,_" Barty hissed at him, drew the invisibility cloak from Harry's satchel and pulled it over the boy's head in one fluid motion. 

Barty, meanwhile, flew back towards his desk and shuffled some papers around. 

That's when the office door blew open and Albus Dumbledore, followed by Severus Snape, came rushing into the room. 

Barty was immediately back in Moody mode and leveled his wand at the two professors. 

"You have half a minute to explain your conduct," he threatened with anger boiling in his voice. "You're lucky I could see your approach or I'd have cursed you into the next school year!" 

"Nevermind that now, Alastor," Dumbledore implored, waving the notion away with a gesture. "It's time for our petty tiff to end. I understand you are not alright with my conduct towards young Harry, but let's put those matters aside. We need your insight now." 

"Is that so," Barty growled and crossed his arms after putting his wand away. "Well, colour me intrigued, Albus. What's this about? And what does _ he _ have to do with it?" 

Harry watched Snape sneer and withstood the urge to kick the man's shin. 

"Severus is here because it concerns him as much as anyone, if not more," Dumbledore said gravely. "Show him your arm, Severus." 

Snape looked like he wanted to refuse but ultimately complied, pulling up his left sleeve and exposing the skull and snake of the Dark Mark. It looked... angry and inflamed. The skin around it was red and served as a stark contrast to the darkening tattoo. 

"He's gaining strength," Dumbledore explained. "We think Karkaroff's disappearance and poor Peter's resurgence are connected to this." 

"They're both traitors," Barty growled. "Why should He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named hold his counsel with them? He abhorred liars and oathbreakers." 

Here, he pointedly looked at Snape who huffed and looked away before rolling his sleeve back down.

"He doesn't have much support left," Dumbledore explained. "All his most loyal are either _ in _ Azkaban or _ died _ in Azkaban and those on the outside in powerful positions are too comfortable to go find him. No, I fear if anyone were to help him, it would have to be those who've fallen from grace in one way or another."

"That actually makes sense," Barty admitted and Harry agreed. He didn't like Dumbledore much at the moment, but his insights were not wrong. "But then why send Pettigrew here? As I understand, his memory has been wiped of the past year?"

"Maybe poor Peter made a mistake," Dumbledore sighed and shook his head. "Tom has ever been so mercurial." 

Harry felt his blood boil. _ Poor Peter? _ That man was the reason his parents were dead and Dumbledore _ knew it. _An icy fist clamped around his heart. 

"Be that as it may, Albus," Barty replied evenly and Harry was once again amazed at Barty's acting. "What do you want me to do about it? Go to the DMLE and interrogate the rat myself?" 

"No," Dumbledore said and shook his head. "I want you to impress upon young Harry that he's not safe anywhere but here in Hogwarts and under his relatives' care. He's shown desire to leave Privet Drive and the blood wards behind in the past, and he's getting to the age where I fear his desires could lead to actions. He's left of his own volition before, and if Tom is gathering strength and followers, I can't leave things up to chance this summer. Will you do that for me? You care for the boy, surely you understand his safety is important?"

"Oh, I understand quite well." Barty crossed his arms. "I just don't know whether you truly have the boy's best interest at heart. Yet in this instance I will admit you're right: I care for him, and I promise that I'll do my utmost to make sure he's safe from anyone who would do him harm." 

"That's not quite the promise I'd hoped for but I'll take it," Dumbledore said with that weary look he sometimes had. "I should have told young Harry some things sooner… Maybe it's not too late yet to mend some bridges." 

"Surely you don't mean the, you know," Snape interrupted, face carefully blank. "We had a deal, Albus." 

"Don't worry, Severus my boy," Dumbledore soothed. "I won't tell him of your part in it." 

Harry glared at the two of them. So much for telling him things. Carefully picked out things, more like. 

He wanted them to leave, and he wanted them to leave now. They'd broken a _ moment _ between him and Barty, a very nice moment, and the memory still made Harry's skin prickle. 

"Why are you actually here, Albus," Barty asked flatly. "You stormed in here as if a bunch of death eaters were after your lemon drops. The Mark has been darkening all year, I heard your lapdog," here, he nodded towards Snape, "whine about it at the Yule Ball." 

"I _ had _ hoped to find Harry here," Dumbledore said slowly, weighing his words carefully. "Ronald Weasley has told me Harry hardly is in his common room anymore and I was worried about him. I thought he might have been here." 

"He's in the library quite often as well," Barty answered, face carefully guarded. "He doesn't spend all his free time _ here, _if that's what you're suggesting. He's friends with Miss Granger and Miss Lovegood, for example, and is often found in their company." 

"Yes, I quite agree," Dumbledore said absent-mindedly and Harry decided instead to watch Snape who was scanning the office very stealthily. 

With a sinking heart, Harry realised that both armchairs had blankets piled on them. Barty and him had spent the evening before just talking about their lives, both snuggled up in blankets and eating cookies. There were two dishes, too. Harry had almost missed curfew. 

Maybe Ron had snitched about that, too. Or maybe Neville? Might have been anyone still left in the common room at that point, now that he thought about it. 

"Very well, we shall look for Harry elsewhere. We'll try the library like you suggested." 

The two took their leave and Harry slipped through the crack of the door before it could close completely. He followed the two outside on his tiptoes and broke into a run as soon as they were out of sight. 

With a beating heart, he used all the knowledge of the castle he'd acquired during his time in Hogwarts to arrive at the library before them. To his absolute relief, Luna was in their spot in the very back and he threw off the cloak. 

"Luna, I need a favour," he whispered urgently. "I've been here with you since classes ended, alright?" 

"Yeah, alright," Luna agreed easily, smiling at him. "Here, you can help me with Charms." 

"Oh, I had problems with that particular charm, too. Wait, what you actually have to do is–" 

"Mr Potter," Snape's voice cut right through his explanation. "What are you doing here?" 

"Hello Professor Snape," Luna greeted with a warm smile. "Harry is helping me with Charms." 

"Is that so," Snape hissed, eyes boring into the side of Harry's face. 

"Yes, professor," Harry answered, refusing to meet the man's eyes. "We've been here since classes ended."

Snape looked from Harry's valiant attempt at cool aloofness to Luna's bright smile, shook his head in a rare display of exasperation and left. 

"Thanks Luna," Harry whispered and started helping her in earnest now. 

-o-

That evening, about half an hour before curfew, Harry slipped into Barty's office with the special unlocking spell the man had taught him and found him, still as Moody, sitting behind his desk. 

"That was quick thinking of you today, Harry," Barty said. "They may know we're close, but the minute they start to suspect we're _ too _ close… damn, we need to think of an alibi for you for next weekend."

Harry took off the invisibility cloak. 

"How long until your potion wears off? I want to cuddle and–" He stopped there and his eyes grew wide when he thought of a plan. 

"What? What's wrong?" Barty was up and by his side in a heartbeat. "Are you alright?" 

"I had an idea," Harry said slowly and felt a little bad when he saw Barty's shoulders sag in relief. "How much Polyjuice do you have left?" 

"Lots, ever since you let me use your money to buy ingredients. Why, what are you—oooh. Luna." 

"Luna," Harry nodded with a conspiratorial grin. 

-o-

That weekend, Harry Potter spent the Hogsmeade trip with a pouch full of coins and bought sweets, quills and drawing equipment, all while asking people whether they, too, liked the Quidditch a lot. Typical Harry things. 

Lots of people _ did _ like the Quidditch, chuckled when they answered him, and asked whether he was feeling quite alright. 

Under his invisibility cloak, the real Harry wondered whether all this had been such a good idea after all. Then again, the expectations of the student body towards him were low at best so a few new quirks might actually work in his favour. 

He was holding the bundle of new robes they'd already bought to his chest and following Barty along the winding paths of Hogsmeade. They were supposed to pass the Shrieking Shack and Apparate out from there. 

Fortunately, no students were mingling this far out at this ungodly hour and Harry held on to Barty's arm when it was offered to him. 

A short, nausea-inducing Apparition later, and Harry wobbled and clung to Barty's arm with two hands to keep from falling. 

"This was _ literally _ the worst," he mumbled and pressed his forehead into the man's shoulder. "Even worse than taking the Portkey last summer." 

"What, this was your first Apparition?" Barty grinned at him as Harry took off the cloak. "And to think I've been told my Apparitions are comfortable, comparatively speaking." 

"Oh god," Harry muttered and stuffed the cloak into his bag while they started walking towards the big house he remembered from his dream. "Why did you get robes this large by the way? I couldn't ask while in Hogsmeade but I was wondering." 

"Mmh," Barty replied, brows furrowed in thought. "That's right, you wouldn't know, would you? You only met my master when you were a baby, when he possessed someone else and when he was a boy not much older than you. He's really, _ really _ tall. Taller even than Dumbledore or your godfather." 

The thought of anyone being even taller than Dumbledore or Sirius was a weird one, but what stuck out the most to Harry in Barty's reply was that the young Tom Riddle he'd met through the diary had been, at most, two years older than him. The other boy had seemed so much older than Harry. So much… harder, somehow. 

He remembered what Barty had told him of Voldemort's early years and felt empathy well up inside him. They hadn't been that different, once upon a time. 

By then, they'd passed the gate surrounding the property and Harry tried not to think of the old groundskeeper he'd watched die here what felt like a lifetime ago. 

Before Barty could reach out to open the grand if shabby door, it was opened from the inside. Karkaroff awaited them, face suspiciously blank of emotion. 

"Do they all look like this?" Harry asked. "When they're under the Imperious, I mean?" 

"Oh Merlin, no," Barty was quick to reassure him. "I commanded this piece of filth to be as unobstructive and pleasant as possible. In his case, that equals bland obedience. My master wouldn't be able to stomach more from him than simple yes and no's." 

"I see," Harry replied while they followed Karkaroff up the stairs. 

The closer they came to the floor where Voldemort was waiting for them, the more Harry felt the hair at the back of his neck stand up. He was briefly seized by a burst of panic and felt the desire to run and go back to Hogwarts and hide behind its thick walls before realising… that there was no future for him there. 

Barty must have sensed something because before Harry knew it, a hand was holding onto his and squeezed. 

"You gonna be alright?" 

Harry looked up. He hadn't even noticed Barty turning back into himself. Had he been spaced out for this long? 

"I think I'm scared," Harry whispered. 

_ He killed your parents, _ a little voice in his head hissed at him. _ And now you're meeting him while holding hands with his most loyal follower. _

"Well he _ is _the most powerful wizard in the world," Barty said with a faraway expression. "Ah, well, at the moment he isn't. But he will be again, in time. Come, let's not keep him waiting. He'd never admit it but he's been waiting for this moment, too."

Harry could only nod in response and let himself be pulled along. He'd survived so much already, and Barty would never betray him, so he knew nothing bad would happen to him. And yet… 

When Barty opened the door, the first thing Harry saw was a fire burning brightly in the fireplace. An armchair was placed before it, sideways to the door, and all Harry could see of Voldemort was a tiny, bony hand on the armrest.

Barty squeezed his hand one last time before quickly crossing the room and kneeling very close in front of the chair. 

Harry watched in fascination as the tiny hand reached out and came to rest on Barty's head. 

"So you have returned as you promised." Voldemort's thin, high voice was gentle. 

"I always keep my promises, master," Barty replied and ducked his head with a small smile. 

It was a surprisingly tender moment and Harry almost felt like he was intruding on something. He wondered what Dumbledore would say if he could see Voldemort like this. 

"Come here, Harry Potter, that I may look upon you with my own eyes." 

Though he flinched, Harry refused to feel afraid and gathered all his Gryffindor courage to walk up to the chair. 

Voldemort's frail little body was nothing much to look at, just like he remembered, but it looked less like a nightmare vision and more like a sick toddler when not viewed through nightmare goggles. 

The only outstanding feature were the piercing, intelligent red eyes boring into his.

"I'm not afraid," Harry retorted almost petulantly, clutching the new robes to his chest like a lifeline. 

To his surprise, Voldemort didn't start cursing or laughing at him. The man's tiny body just held out his hand, as if wanting him to shake it. 

"Come, Harry Potter. I won't ask a third time."

And Harry went. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALSO: if you like Hannibal, I wrote a Tomarry Hannibal AU called 'A Mirror Darkly' for a winter exchange which you might like to check out!  
It was first released anonymously so you might have missed it <3


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The one in which a harvest is collected that has been grown from dark seeds.

After he'd taken three big steps to reach the armchair, Harry looked at Barty who returned his gaze nervously. Harry swallowed audibly before taking Voldemort's small hand in his. 

There was no pain. 

"Seems your mother's protection has failed to identify me as a threat, Harry," Voldemort observed, sounding amused. "I suppose I really _ have _ grown fond of the idea of us being more than enemies." 

Harry took a cautious step back and watched Barty sway a little before the man rested his forehead against Voldemort's armchair. 

"Are… are you alright, Barty?" he asked, unsure. 

"He's merely relieved," Voldemort told him and carded his hand lazily through Barty's hair. "This impending meeting of ours has been stressing him greatly. I do believe a huge burden has just fallen off of dear Barty. Is it not so?" 

Barty merely grunted his approval but didn't raise his head again.

Harry didn't know what to say to that and shuffled awkwardly for a moment. 

"I, uh, brought you a present," he finally said.

He unrolled the robes he'd been holding onto and held them up to show Voldemort. When he raised his arms as high as they could go and the hems still almost touched the ground, it frustrated him greatly. 

"Robes?" Voldemort's voice sounded amused once more and suddenly, the robes started floating on their own towards the armchair. "This is good quality. We don't have the funds for this, Barty." 

"It's _ my _ present," Harry clarified. "I got them for you, with my own money. As thanks for… for providing me with the means to get my godfather exonerated. And for saving Barty from his dad." 

"Interesting," Voldemort replied, sounding honestly intrigued as his eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "How very interesting indeed. Come here, Harry, that we may speak together. I have a great many things to talk about with you." 

Harry, already standing rather close to the armchair, took another step and felt weird when he towered over both Voldemort and Barty. He made to sit on the ground, but it was _ Voldemort _ he was faced with and surely Harry Potter couldn't kneel on the ground in front of the weakened husk of Lord Voldemort? 

Harry contemplated his options and finally decided to sit next to Barty, cross-legged. In a last show of defiance, he crossed his arms and refused to meet Voldemort's eyes. 

"You are a lot less abrasive than last we met," Voldemort said and Harry looked up in surprise. 

"Well, you're not trying to kill me right now." 

Voldemort returned his gaze evenly, steadily, and Harry felt as if his soul was laid bare before the man's red, reptilian eyes. Barty had shown him what it felt like to have your mind read with legilimency, and this wasn't it. It was just a frightening degree of intelligence directed solely at him, much like when Hermione used to look right through his feeble excuses when it came to schoolwork in his first three years. 

"If you remember: when first we met, I offered you a place at my side, Harry," Voldemort reminded him and Harry felt his blood run cold. "You called me a liar then." 

Harry's mouth was suddenly very dry because when he thought back to Quirrell and the mirror of Erised, there was… indeed a distant memory of Voldemort offering him a place by his side. He'd considered it merely a ploy to get the stone back then, but maybe… maybe… it had been something more? 

Harry knew then what path he was currently on and what he had to ask to continue walking it. He'd never been one for pandering to expectations of the masses anyway, had he? 

"So… are you offering again?" 

Voldemort looked at him with a satisfied twist to his mouth and Barty raised his head to stare at Harry in disbelief.

"Harry, do you _ realise _ what you're asking?" Barty's voice was shaky but his expression was, above all, hopeful. If anything, it only served to strengthen Harry's resolve. 

"I do, and I mean it," Harry answered. "There's… nothing for me in Hogwarts anymore. Not the way it is now, at least. I've learned more about magic and Wizarding society during the past half year than in all the years before, Barty, and it's all thanks to you. If… if this is the path you choose, it's the path I choose too."

Harry's heart was beating wildly in his chest and he was relieved to see Barty conjure up a wobbly smile in response to his declaration. 

"You see now, master?" Barty asked Voldemort, a fragile sort of enthusiasm evident in his almost shaking frame. "Everything I said is true." 

"And to think I'd almost called you a liar," Voldemort replied fondly. The emotion looked foreign on the small, severe face. "Never again shall I commit such an egregious error." 

Barty beamed up at Voldemort and grabbed one of Harry's hands within both of his, raising it to his mouth and kissing the back of it. 

"Thank you, Harry," Barty said solemnly and Harry blushed a deep crimson. No one had ever kissed his _ hand _ before. 

"You're welcome," he mumbled, feeling self-conscious about Barty being so appreciative and grinning at him as if he'd never been happier. "Why don't you go and put on your new robes too? I want to see you in them." 

"That's a splendid idea, Harry," Barty agreed easily, squeezed his hand again and bowed quickly to Voldemort before bouncing out of the room. 

It was at roughly this moment that Harry realised that Barty's departure meant he was alone with his old nemesis. Once again, a quiet sense of dread washed over him but he refused to give in and looked up instead. 

As he'd expected, Voldemort was watching him intently. "My servant is most smitten with you, Harry," the man mused, not unkindly. "Even after the rat and I had saved him, the enthusiasm I'd known him for was… muted. Azkaban and those long years as his hated father's puppet had broken something deep inside him. And yet, I daresay you have managed to put Humpty Dumpty together again." 

Harry's brows drew up at the old muggle nursery rhyme. "Barty helped me as much as I have helped him," he answered instead of mentioning the rhyme. "I didn't even realise he'd been quite that sad in the beginning if I'm being honest… I'm glad we found each other when we did." 

"Quite." Voldemort leaned his head back into the cushions he was propped up against and closed his eyes. "And yes, I am indeed offering once more, Harry. I'm glad you see the truth in my words now… Alas, I grow weary easily in this form and require rest. Tell me of the occasion my gift to you managed to save you from a mob of badgers. Barty told me but I'd like to hear the story from your own mouth." 

"Oh, sure," Harry nodded. It was weird to see the nightmare figure he'd spent four years more or less afraid of so… weak? Human?

The small golem body looked almost peaceful, relaxed as he was, and Harry felt his last desire to be combatant melt away. 

When Barty came back a few minutes later, looking soft and glowing in light blue robes, Harry was still telling his story with the fire warmly crackling at his back. Barty just sat down on the floor next to him and listened as well. It was… cozy, almost. 

When Harry had finished after his run-in with Snape, Voldemort's face turned into a bit of a sneer. 

"Yes, Barty has told me much about Severus'... _ conduct _ towards the students in his care."

Harry frowned. "No offense, but why would you care?"

Voldemort was quiet for a while and Harry wondered whether he was going to get an answer at all or if the man had fallen asleep. Finally, the golem's mouth opened and shared another thing they had in common. 

"Hogwarts is the first home I've ever had, Harry, and I care for her deeply. Once I'm back in power, I'd aspire for her to return to her former glory and produce masters and mistresses of their crafts." Voldemort looked down at Barty. "It's part of why I've told Barty here to do his best as a teacher. You see… Severus, while a great potioneer, is no teacher. He lacks the desire to, hm, socialise, if you will." 

Harry remembered a young Tom Riddle panicking when Hogwarts was about to be closed and he knew he'd have felt much the same way should he have had to return to the hated Dursleys. He still couldn't believe he'd never have to see them again in his _ life. _

"Snape's the worst," Harry said after he'd let the silence drag on for too long. "I hate him. Every time I have Potions, it's a study in misery! I wish he'd just disappear from my life and I doubt anyone would miss him if he did, apart from maybe Dumbledore." 

"Ah, yes. Dumbledore. Barty has told me in a letter that the old fool has been steadily growing more suspicious of your… relationship to my servant. How tiresome that Severus should aid him so." 

"We've been taking measures to conceal our, uh, closeness, master," Barty interjected quietly. "They know Harry considers Moody his mentor and a parent stand-in but there's nothing they can do about that." 

"They don't expect you to take him from the school once the tournament is over and will be taking countermeasures?" Voldemort's eyes narrowed when Harry and Barty grinned at each other. "You have a plan then. Tell me." 

Barty told Voldemort about Cedric's idea and Harry was relieved to see a smug smile settle on the man's features the further Barty explained. 

"And here's the contract," Barty finally said and produced a copy from a bag he'd been carrying. "We thought you might look through it during the next weeks and get back to us if you find something we can use? We, uh, tried reading it ourselves but…" 

"I know: you're a scholar, not a law wizard," Voldemort replied fondly and Harry sensed the two men must have had that discussion in the past. How odd to think of Voldemort as having people he liked in his life. 

"So, uh, how did you two meet anyway," Harry asked. "Barty must have been really young when he became a death eater, and he came from a Light family. How did that work?" 

"Mhh, what a delightful question. Well, I certainly don't see the harm in sharing it," Voldemort mused. "You see, we'd been receiving secret Auror reports from an unknown source for _ months _ during the war _ , _ and all of them turned out to be perfectly legitimate. They used to come with anonymous Post Office owls but one day, the money we sent to the informant from time to time as thanks was enough to procure an owl of their own." 

"I wanted to be found," Barty shrugged and took over the storytelling. "I wouldn't have gotten careless like that if I didn't. So one evening during my winter break of my last Hogwarts year, while I'm sitting all cozy in my room, studying, my owl I'd sent with reports stolen from my… father returns. There were three Death Eaters following her as I'd later find out and they broke through my window and tried to kidnap me."

"And they did," Voldemort added, "but not before you sent Rodolphus to our infirmary with reversed knees and broke Evan's nose." 

"They had it coming," Barry shrugged. "Anyway, the remaining death eater, Rabastan Lestrange, Rodolphus' brother, stunned me and I woke up in this grand throne room where they pulled a sack from my head. The first thing I saw was Lord Voldemort, in all his glory, staring down at me from his magnificent throne." 

Barty's expression was enraptured, his arms splayed wide, and Harry shot a considering glance towards the present-day Voldemort. Tom Riddle had been a very handsome boy, much like Cedric, but with more of an edge to him, and Harry wondered how Lord Voldemort had looked in his prime. 

"And then you just… became a death eater as well?" he asked and Barty snapped out of his memories. 

"I did," he replied and pulled up his sleeve.

The Dark Mark looked darker now than ever before Harry had seen it. Maybe it was the proximity to its Lord and master? 

"We'd been in contact before," Voldemort explained further. "My side didn't only send money to our informant, I also used to write letters to him. Nothing strategic, just… small talk, innocuous things, but then highly theoretical scholarly discussions, too, when we realised we had those interests in common. Imagine my surprise when my servants bring back little more than a milk-faced boy."

"I was no boy, I'd turned 15 _months _ before!" Barty gasped incredulously. 

"You were little more than a boy," Voldemort reiterated. "And at first, I didn't even want to give you my mark. Yet, you begged for it so sweetly… how could I have refused?" 

Barty blushed and looked down. He stroked the Dark Mark with a tender caress and Harry felt… what? Jealousy? Strangely enough, it wasn't the closeness between Voldemort and Barty that made him feel that way but rather the closeness between master and servant. 

He wondered what it was like to belong somewhere, even if it was a group of, well, terrorists? Slowly, he understood more about why so many people had joined Lord Voldemort back then. Even in this form, he was charismatic and intelligent, and Harry supposed that, coupled with Tom Riddle's handsomeness, it was easy to see how people had flocked to his banner. 

"When are you going to be resurrected fully, and is there anything I can do to help?" Harry asked and flinched when both Voldemort and Barty flung their heads around to stare at him. "Only if, if… if you want my help, that is." 

He remembered, then. Somehow even worse than Harry Hunting, there had been a game called No Harrys Allowed where Dudley and his gang, or sometimes even most of his classmates, used to play in an area with scribbled pieces of paper pinned to proclaim that no Harrys were allowed beyond this line. 

Vaguely, he wondered why this was the story of his life and why it still managed to hurt him so. And then, a strange yet powerful desire came over him. 

"If I were to ask you whether I could have the Dark Mark, too–" 

"Harry," Barty gasped, "no, you're way too young!" 

"Hush, Barty, let the boy speak." Voldemort's tone was firm, but not harsh. 

With his voice shaking, Harry continued. "If I were to ask for the Dark Mark, would you give it to me?" 

Those red eyes mustered him as if they hadn't _ truly _ seen him before, and there was an assessing glint in them. 

"It's a variant of a slave bond of old, Harry Potter," Voldemort finally explained. "Once it's done, there's no way to remove it short of removing the whole limb. And even then, the master's magic remains within the servant forevermore. There's few Gryffindors in my service for a reason, boy. They are - _ you _ are - bad at kneeling." 

"I could have gone to Slytherin instead," Harry exclaimed, changing the way he sat so he was on his knees instead. "The hat told me I could have been great in Slytherin, but by then I'd already… already…" 

"I remember, you were quite the hatstall… if only I'd known then of your potential, my approach to you would have been so very, very different," Voldemort admitted and his stare was so intense now that Harry had to look down with his cheeks burning red. 

"Master," Barty interrupted then, voice shaking. "Will you really… I mean, will he have…" 

Voldemort hummed in thought and was quiet for a while. When Harry was just about to look up again, a hand moved on top of his head and Voldemort's gaze was indecipherable when Harry met it. 

"I have changed many plans because of your conduct this year, Harry Potter, and now I shall change one more." The hand stayed a steady, grounding presence on Harry's head but Voldemort's gaze travelled over to Barty. 

"We will expedite our plans, Barty. Harry will help you in securing our last ingredient, and for this act of service, he will receive my mark as payment once I have been resurrected fully." Voldemort looked between them. "Is this acceptable?" 

Harry nodded enthusiastically and after a brief pause, Barty nodded as well. 

"How can I help?" Harry asked, suddenly uncertain. "I'm not terribly good at magic yet to be honest. What kind of ingredient do you need? If it's expensive, I could buy it for you, of course." 

Voldemort considered him once more for a long moment and Harry felt terribly naked again under such intense scrutiny. "It's blood," the man finally said and Harry's eyes grew wide. "The ritual set to restore me calls for the blood of an enemy, forcibly taken." 

Harry's own blood ran cold at that admission and he knew, he _ knew with utmost certainty, _that it would have been his blood they would have used if he hadn't become friends with Barty. The hand still on his head tightened in his hair and he looked back up. When had he even lowered his gaze? 

"Your blood is no longer required, nor would it work," Voldemort told him in a firm yet gentle voice. "And it's just as well, that way. The ritual specifies that one shall be brought back to the time when one became the enemy of the one whose blood one uses. I'd thought I wanted to go back to the height of my power but… when I tried to kill you, I wasn't myself anymore, so lost was I in… well. In any case, I shall use Albus Dumbledore's blood and come back younger than I was. It will be most interesting to see when he and I have first considered each other enemies."

Dumbledore then. Strangely, Harry couldn't find it in himself to care so he didn't comment on Voldemort's choice because he wouldn't have known what to say. 

"And the other ingredients?" 

"Bone of the father, unknowingly given, lying just outside in the graveyard you passed when you arrived here. That is used to provide the skeletal structure," Voldemort explained further. "And lastly… flesh of the servant, willingly given." 

Alarmed, Harry immediately looked over to Barty who returned his gaze steadily. 

"My master will give me magic to replace what I've lost," Barty reassured him. "I don't mind giving part of myself, Harry. In fact, I'm honoured!" 

"You're a much better choice than Wormtail was," Voldemort agreed. "The flesh of the servant is partly responsible for the magical prowess of the one being resurrected, for any great Lord is only as strong as the servants who follow him. You are one of my strongest, and much stronger than Wormtail. You will do me proud, boy."

Harry watched Barty duck his head and blush, babbling excitedly about what wonderful, grand things they'd be doing after Voldemort's resurrection. He wondered, not for the first time, what exactly their relationship was. It seemed almost too tender, at times, to merely be that of master and servant. He was no expert in the matter, of course, but they struck him as father and son, oddly enough. 

"How are we going to get Dumbledore's blood?" he asked when Barty was quiet again. "I think he'd be highly suspicious if we just asked, right? And I think he'd notice if we just, well, took it by force? He's not really a big fan of either Moody or me right now." 

"I have a plan of course," Voldemort told him with that smug smile he pulled off without it being overly patronising. "It'll require acting and stealth on both of your parts, but I think you will prevail. Here's how this will go." 

-o-

It was weird to return to Hogwarts after what had basically amounted to a war council with Lord Voldemort. The man's plan was just mad enough to work and Harry already felt excited when he thought about it. 

Falling into step beside Barty on the other hand was easy and Harry couldn't wait for a time when he would be able to walk with the man freely, away from Polyjuice Potion and invisibility cloaks. 

Thankfully, the students made enough of a berth around Moody that Harry was in no danger of being stumbled over or bumped into, and he enjoyed simply watching the other kids without being stared at. 

Still, he was glad to be rid of the invisibility cloak once they'd reached the safety of Barty's heavily warded office. 

To his surprise, Barty immediately went over towards his armchair, slumped down on it, and began taking the leg off. "I'm so very done for today, Harry. That was… I'm just so glad everything went well. You can't possibly believe the relief I'm feeling right now. Please keep an eye on your map, I'm no use for the rest of the day, I'm afraid." 

With a grin, Harry got out the Marauder's Map and activated it. There was no one on on their way to them, and he giggled giddily. He'd met with Lord Voldemort, or what earthly form remained of him, and _ nothing had happened. _The earth hadn't stopped spinning, the skies hadn't darkened and the sun was still shining. 

Everything was still the same, just not the new conviction that had taken root inside him. Harry Potter, future death eater. Would all the other death eaters be as awful as Snape and Lucius Malfoy? But then, there were apparently death eaters like Barty who were nice and kind, and he guessed there had to be more like that. 

Voldemort, after all, hadn't been as awful as he'd expected either. In fact, he'd been quite charming, actually, if you looked past the golem form he was trapped in. 

"Has he always been this charismatic when he's not entirely desperate?" Harry asked, wistfully, and sat down in his armchair. 

Barty, who'd been relaxing with his eyes closed, cracked one eye open and looked at him. "Yes. Yes, he's always been that charismatic when he wants to be. Make no mistake, he's very good at instrumentalising that charisma to get what he wants."

"And today, he wanted me to join him?" 

"Desperately so, though he'd never admit it." Barty's grin was impish and his eyes shone. "Don't ever tell him I told you." 

"Don't worry, I won't," Harry promised, inching closer toward Barty's chair.

"Oh come here, you menace," the man sighed and pulled at Harry's wrist until he almost fell onto Barty's lap. "You were so brilliant today! I half expected you to be combatant for the hell of it, but you were so reasonable and mature. My master was most pleased with your conduct, I could tell." 

"Really? I mostly felt out of my depth and like he was five steps ahead of me at every point." Since he was feeling giddy and comfortable, Harry shifted around until he was straddling Barty's thighs. "And _ you, _you were so at home around him. I had no idea he could be so… normal?"

"Lord Voldemort is a very dangerous man, Harry, please don't forget that." Here, Barty's hands came up to cradle Harry's face and the man's thumbs gently massaged over Harry's forehead. "And please do sleep over your decision with the mark. You heard him, it's so very permanent, and you're so… _ so _ very young."

Barty lowered his hands again and he had a very pained expression on his face. Harry supposed he was warring with his conscience again. 

"You're allowed to kiss me," he told the man and put his hands on Barty's shoulders. "No one will know!" 

_ "I'll _ know," Barty groaned, but still his hands came up to cup Harry's jaw once more and _ pulled. _

Kissing like this was nice, and Harry sighed even as he felt himself become pliant and tingly all over. He put his arms around Barty's neck and pressed himself close to the man.

Barty shuddered against him, and when they parted for air, both panting, the man's eyes were dark and hungry. "You impossible boy," Barty groaned and leaned his head back against his armchair. "If you had any idea what you're doing to me…" 

Instead of answering, Harry merely snuggled close once more. "It's not like it's not mutual, you know," he mumbled into Barty's neck and grinned when another shiver ran through the body under him. 

-o-

The next weekend, they decided to execute their plans.

Voldemort's plans. 

Funny how that worked. 

"And you're absolutely sure Dumbledore will fall for this?" Harry was Not Convinced and had his arms crossed. "I mean, he doesn't like me very much at the moment." 

"Oh Harry, the problem is that he doesn't really like _ anyone _except maybe that phoenix of his," Barty explained. "He doesn't empathise with people. They're only as dear to him as the socio-political power their support allows him to wield. I wouldn't be surprised if he wasn't even capable of feeling friendship and, and love or anything." 

"That's weird," Harry mused, surprised, "because it's almost exactly what he told me about Voldemort." 

"It's _ Lord _ Voldemort. And how dare he!" Barty looked up from where he was packing some equipment into Moody's big coat, just in case. "My master has been nicer and more caring to me than any adult in Hogwarts ever was. Old goat better watch his tone around me. Pah!"

Barty continued packing even as he was grumbling and Harry took a moment to internalise this new information. Were the tables turned? 

At least he knew that Barty wasn't lying. He _ genuinely _ liked Lord Voldemort on a personal level, and he wasn't acting, but maybe Voldemort had been leading Barty on? But then, he would have been leading Harry on too during their meeting and it had certainly _ felt _ like the man had been really invested in him and cultivating a relationship with him that went beyond, well, fated arch nemesis. 

Shrugging, Harry closed his eyes to recount the plan once more in his head. They had some blood to procure after all, and not many chances to do so. 

About half an hour later, Barty, disguised as Moody once more, was frantically knocking on the door of Dumbledore's office hidden behind the gargoyle. 

"Albus, open this damn thing up! If you have any love left for our old friendship, you will open this door right about fucking now!" 

Harry, hanging limply over Barty's shoulder, grinned despite his role because technically, he'd heard a professor _ swear. _

He couldn't see, but he heard the gargoyle stepping away and Barty ran up the stairs with Moody's artificial leg creaking and thonking horribly on every step. 

The door to the headmaster's office flew open before they'd even reached it and Harry soon found himself dropped unceremoniously into an armchair.

"Harry? What's the matter here, Alastor? Why does he look like this?" 

"Boy had a vision," Barty grumbled in Alastor's voice. "We had tea in my office like every Sunday afternoon where he just tells me about his week, and when he told me about those strange dreams he had last night he… he suddenly _ had a vision, _ Albus! He, he said something about someone approaching who's fated to vanquish the Dark Lord? Born to those who've thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies -- Albus, did the boy make a _ prophecy about himself?" _

Harry wanted badly to see Dumbledore's expression but Barty had promised to show him later in a pensieve so he stuck to his role and merely groaned slightly. 

"What!" Dumbledore finally said, "he said _ what?! _Alastor, you must tell me everything! Did he say more than this?" 

"He collapsed quickly afterwards," Barty replied, frantic, "and in the dream he told me about, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was in full power and hearing that very same prophecy from a masked Death Eater. What does it all mean, Albus? Do you know anything about this?" 

"No, I… I have no idea about any of this!" Harry heard steps coming over towards him and forced himself to relax and not tense up. "Harry, my boy, it's Albus Dumbledore. Can you hear me?" 

Harry fluttered his eyes open slowly and stared at Dumbledore's forehead. No eye-contact. None at all. Barty and Voldemort both had stressed this greatly. 

"Headmaster," Harry mumbled. "I saw Voldemort… he's still, he's still out there… he's so weak, so very weak, but he's no longer alone and he knows where I am and…"

"Hush, Harry, calm down. We'll take care of this. I'll just get Professor Snape here and we'll–"

"NO!" Harry screamed, tensing and jumping out from his armchair. "Not Snape, not Snape! Don't get Snape, no, not him, not he who, not…" 

He was held back by Barty and buried his face in the man's chest. Since Barty was standing with his back to Dumbledore per the plan, Harry surreptitiously downed a tear potion and immediately started sobbing his heart out. 

"Not Snape?" Dumbledore came around Harry and put a hand on his shoulder. "He who what, Harry? What did you _ see?" _

"I saw Snape with Voldemort, headmaster," Harry forced out through the sobs. "I can't trust him, he told him, he, he told him who, how, he…" 

The potion, and maybe some of his own emotions, overmanned him again, and Harry turned back to cling to Barty. 

"Be reasonable, Albus," Barty growled. "Get back here and away from the Floo! The boy needs help, not his worst enemy!" 

"Professor Snape is not Harry's enemy!" Dumbledore shot back and Barty growled something under his breath even as the Floo flared up and Snape stepped through after a hushed conversation with Dumbledore. 

Barty maneuvered them so he was once again between Harry and the others. "Do you ever bloody listen, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore? I came here so you'd help me protect my charge against whatever is attacking his mind, not to torment him further by confronting him with thrice-turned Death Eaters!" 

"Don't talk to Severus like that, he's a trusted ally and a dear friend!" 

And then, they were all shouting over each other until Harry held his hands over his ears and started screaming as loud as he could. 

"Harry," Dumbledore started once they'd all quieted down but Harry merely shook his head. 

"No, no, no, tell him to go away! I don't want him here, make him go _ away!" _

"Mr Potter," Snape sneered, "of all the insufferable episodes you've inflicted upon us in the past, this one surely is–" 

_ "Sectumsempra!" _

Harry shouted the spell in Parseltongue in the blink of an eye at Snape and, as expected, Dumbledore stepped in the way, not knowing what was coming. None of the adults had even had their wands in their hands. 

"Albus!" Snape and Barty shouted and rushed towards the old man who'd fallen and was quickly losing so much blood that a puddle was forming around him. 

"Headmaster…" Harry forced himself to whisper, "what did I… what did I do!?" 

"Potter," Snape barked, "what spell did you _ hiss _ at him? TELL ME!" 

"S-sectumsempra," Harry whispered. "It was in my dreams, and it was… yours and… I don't know what I… I'm so sorry!" 

"Of all the curses…" Snape mumbled with an expression as stricken as he'd ever seen the man, but immediately started healing Dumbledore with the appropriate counterspell. "Get me a blood-replenishing potion, Moody." 

Harry watched Barty run towards a cabinet in Dumbledore's office and hurry back with a vial of a potion that was as red as the blood on the floor and Dumbledore and - Jackpot - Barty's clothes. 

"Take that boy away from here," Snape forced out through gritted teeth. "I'll be busy for a while. You'd best watch out he doesn't try to kill anyone else, Moody. I'm afraid not everyone might be as forgiving as me and the headmaster." 

"That's because few people are, apparently, as guilty as you are," Barty growled back. "Make no mistake, I'm getting to the bottom of this, Severus Snape." 

Barty bodily grabbed Harry around the waist and marched him out of the office. Once outside the gargoyle, they threw the cloak over themselves and ran back to the Defense classroom as quick as possible. 

Once inside the office, Harry pulled a vial out of his bag and held it so that Barty could spell the blood out of his clothes with a cleaning charm and into the vial. Next, the man put a high-level stasis charm on both vial and blood and sank onto the floor with a breathless giggle. 

"We did it, we actually did it!" 

"I almost killed him," Harry realised and his stomach started churning. He put the vial on the desk and sank to his knees. "I knew what the spell was gonna do, and I still used it. I'm… if Snape hadn't been there…" 

"But he was," Barty was quick to reassure him. "It was all part of the plan, and by the Gods, Harry, you played your part so wonderfully!" 

Barty came crawling over towards him, grabbed his face and gave him a big kiss. Moody's face was full of stubble and it scratched a little but Harry didn't even mind. 

"I did? I've never really acted before." 

"You were beautiful, so incredibly incredibly good," Barty gushed, even as he started turning back into himself once he'd gotten rid of the eye and the leg. "We would have never managed this without you… you really _ are _ something special, Harry James Potter." 

And then Barty kissed him again, giddy as all hell, and Harry kissed him back fiercely and wrapped his arms around the man's shoulders to pull him closer. 

"Next weekend, Harry," Barty promised with a glint in his eye. "Next weekend, we're getting him back!" 

"Next weekend," Harry echoed and tried not to let the churning in his stomach overpower him. "Next weekend, the rest of our lives will begin." 

"And Snape will suffer for his part in all this," Barty promised darkly. 

"I'll accept nothing less. The prophecy, I... I almost wish Dumbledore hadn't stepped in," Harry growled. 

"That's my boy," Barty grinned. "My impossible, wonderful boy." 

Then they were kissing again and all the doubts Harry might have had seemed to fly out of the window like so much smoke. 

  
  
  
  
  



	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So full-time work plus being a mom is hard. Who'd have thought. But none of my works will be abandoned!

Harry was sitting all alone on the Astronomy Tower once more. He hadn't done that since that fateful day back in November when he'd gotten to know Barty under the guise of Alastor Moody. 

This time, it was bright daylight instead of the middle of the night, and everything on the grounds was slowly beginning to bloom. It looked pretty and calming, and that was exactly what Harry needed at that moment. 

Since it was already Thursday, it was just two more days until Barty and he were going to resurrect Lord Voldemort. 

That sentence never failed to make Harry's stomach churn. Maybe he should—

A hand fell on his shoulder and Harry  _ jumped.  _

He turned around with a wild look in his eyes to see… 

"Luna!" Harry exclaimed, "you almost gave me a heart attack!" 

"You are very tense, Harry James Potter," Luna replied, carefree as ever, and smiled serenely at him. "Why is that?" 

"I'm not tense," Harry mumbled and turned around to look back down at the grounds. 

Some students were milling around outside in groups, now that lessons were over for the day. Harry remembered the times he'd spent walking just like them with Ron and Hermione and heaved a big sigh. 

He hadn't spoken to Ron in weeks even though they shared the same dorm. As for the other boys… he'd never really been close with Dean and Seamus and his conscience was telling him he couldn't possibly strike up a friendship with Neville.

Harry held no illusions that Barty's survival was going to come out sooner or later. Just like his own allegiances, he supposed. He'd decided he wouldn't want Neville to deal with the emotional fallout of one of his few friends being… close to his parents' alleged torturer. Though Barty had said it hadn't been him, of course, and Harry had believed him but… Neville probably wouldn't. 

"I can hear you overthinking things from here," Luna told him and Harry flinched again. He'd already forgotten that she was here. 

"Sorry, Luna, there's a lot on my mind right now," he explained. 

"Anything you want to share?" She sat down next to him and got out a book. "I'll stay with you and if you want to talk, you just talk." 

"Alright," Harry replied uneasily, feeling himself almost choke up. 

They continued sitting there for almost an hour, Luna reading her book on Runes and Harry staring into the distance. Finally, Harry felt like it might actually be a good idea to get some of his thoughts out. 

"If you… if you want to do a thing that some people might not like, even some people you might have called friends in the past… does it make you a bad person to follow through with the thing?" 

"I think it depends on what your intentions are," Luna shrugged, closing her book. "Do you want to do the thing to hurt other people?" 

"No," Harry mumbled, "not at all, actually. But… people might get hurt regardless, and by doing the thing I'm tacitly accepting the fact that bad stuff might happen." 

"I see." Luna turned her head and focused her too-big eyes on him. "Then I guess the question is: would you be able to live with yourself if you went through with it? Because I don't think you're a bad person, Harry Potter, and if you could live with yourself, it can't be that bad." 

Harry thought about that statement and shivered. He pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders and scooted over to sit closer to Luna. 

"The thing is, I  _ would  _ be able to live with myself and I think that is confirmation enough that I'm… not entirely a good person anymore." He put his face in his hands and shook his head. "And then there's the fact that, even if I decided not to go through with it, it would still happen -- unless I ratted out one of the only people to ever give a rat's ass about me which would condemn them to… a fate worse than death." 

"This is about Alastor, isn't it?" 

Harry sighed. "I made it too easy, didn't I?" 

"I read reports from the Wizarding War. Alastor Moody is right-handed but our Alastor… he isn't." 

Harry's head shot up and he stared at Luna. "But he casts spells with his right hand!" 

"It's not just that," Luna replied. "There are so few left-handed wizards and witches, you see? I'm left-handed myself, and he does some of the more inconspicuous things with his left hand. Buttering his bread rolls in the mornings, the way he holds his cards when we play games… then there's the way he looks at you when he thinks no one's looking." 

Harry refused to think about the fact that Daphne Greengrass in his year was left-handed as well and that it was, apparently, a Greengrass trait. By Merlin, Luna and Barty were  _ cousins,  _ he realised once more. 

"But  _ you're _ looking?" he finally managed to reply to Luna's earlier observations. 

"I'm very good at not being noticed." 

Harry snickered a little at that and leaned his head back against the stone behind them. "I suppose you are. What else have you seen?" 

"Professor Dumbledore hasn't been at meals this week. The first meal he wasn't there, you kept glancing up at the head table and then ducking your head when either Snape or Alastor looked at you." Luna smiled when Harry whipped his head around to look at her. "I'm not as  _ vacant _ as people seem to think, Harry Potter. Just because I prefer my own world doesn't mean I don't notice what's happening around me, either. But this is about you. I don't know who Alastor really is, but from what I can tell, he's been good for you. I just hope he's not  _ too _ old."

"Very early thirties," Harry croaked out, feeling suddenly violently ill. 

"See, that's not even close to the worst age difference in the wizarding world," Luna soothed him and put one of her small, warm hands in his. "I suppose he's Dark and came here to do nefarious deeds?" 

"Pretty much," Harry answered.

"And you stopped him and changed his ways like the heroic boy you are?" 

Luna's grin was bright and warm like summer, but it faded into autumn when Harry didn't answer and couldn't even meet her gaze.

"Oh," she made, and then again, "oh! It's the other way around, isn't it? He turned Gryffindor's golden seeker towards the dark, I see, and that thing you've mentioned… does it relate to the dream I've had about a pale hand reaching for–" 

"Why are you even so insightful, Luna?" Harry stopped her and squeezed her hand. 

"I just am," Luna shrugged. "You know… ever since you and me and Viktor and Hermione answered Daddy's questions for the Quibbler, he's been selling more issues. People were very interested in what he had to say about Dumbledore's poor planning, and Daddy has become a bit more… critical in the wake of this success."

"Oh? Critical of what? Dumbledore?" 

"That, too, but also of the ministry. He's been critical of them before, but now he's actually investigating things and not just connecting the dots between rumours he heard." Luna turned his hand around where she'd been holding onto it and started drawing small circles into his palm. "The people like it."

"Whatever happened with the French minister? Fleur's dad? I was… kinda preoccupied with my own issues, and without Hermione holding the Prophet under my nose, I don't really know what's going on outside of Hogwarts."

"You wouldn't have seen anything about it in the Prophet anyway," Luna giggled. "No, no. Daddy investigated, and there have been agreements made behind closed doors, so the worst of the political fallout has been contained, but Beauxbatons leaving early sent a powerful statement that the general public in France is not amused." 

"Figures," Harry nodded wearily. "Come on, Luna, dinner's about to start. We both need our calories." 

"I do hope they have pudding, you know?" 

"Yes, Luna," Harry grinned fondly, "yes, I know." 

-o-

Thanks to a grave oversight of Magical Great Britain, Harry and Barty had a great excuse to leave the school that Saturday. 

The official explanation for Albus Dumbledore's absence during the week was that he'd contracted Wizard Flu, and such a prominent case had brought magical diseases to the forefront of the students' minds. 

Purebloods and halfbloods alike were aghast when they found out that most of their muggleborn friends had never even heard of inoculations against those diseases, so lots of owls between the ministry, the school, muggleborn students and concerned parents were sent back and forth that week. 

(Harry would later find out that this was also mostly due to a exposé the Quibbler had run which had been prompted by Hermione being  _ horrified _ to find out from Luna and Viktor that both had been inoculated as children and that, apparently, no one had considered maybe putting information on that in the first Hogwarts letter.)

So on that fine, crispy Saturday morning in March, Harry and Barty left the Hogwarts grounds to "get him inoculated", just like many other muggleborn children either this weekend or one of the next ones. And they actually did -- in a side street of London's magical district two streets removed from Diagon called Rittic Alley.

But after that, they didn't go straight back to Hogwarts. Instead, they Apparated once more to Little Hangleton where Karkaroff and the golem body Lord Voldemort was inhabiting were already waiting for them in front of a huge ritual cauldron. 

"Good, you have arrived," Voldemort greeted them, and if Harry wasn't mistaken, he actually sounded eager. Which totally made sense, he realised then, because the man had been waiting for this moment for well over a decade! 

He remembered Barty telling him about how much Tom Riddle had been afraid of death and tried to reconcile a scared boy that was hard done by with the nightmare vision of the Dark Lord he'd heard about. 

"Master!" Barty greeted back excitedly and took out the vial of blood they'd procured. "We have Dumbledore's blood with us, as promised, and the old man is still weakened."

"I had expected no less of either of you," the golem spoke, and Harry wondered just how much Voldemort's voice would change once he was back in his own body. New body. What a weird concept. 

"Are you alright, Harry?" Barty asked, and Harry looked up in confusion. "You look pale… are you still sure about this? Shall I bring you back to Hogwarts first for… plausible deniability?" 

"In for a penny," Harry joked drily and crossed his arms. "I'll stay. I'm definitely staying. I told you I go where you're going, and I'm not budging on that."

"You really are an impossible boy," Barty grinned and hugged him fiercely before striding up to the ritual cauldron. "Alright, let's get this show started. We've all waited long enough!" 

On a signal from Voldemort, Karkaroff dropped the golem body into the cauldron and Harry's eyes grew wide. Wouldn't he drown? He frowned. Did the golem even need to breathe? 

As instructed by Barty, Harry stayed a distance away and watched the man perform the dark ritual. In another universe, it might have been a scary ordeal, held in the dead of night with only the fire burning under the cauldron illuminating everything. 

Yet today, the midday sun was standing high in the sky and the air smelled cool and clean. Voldemort's giant snake was curled up close to the fire, hissing about anticipation and new beginnings, and Harry found himself smiling at her. 

After throwing in the bone of the father, Barty poured the blood of the enemy into the cauldron, kept fresh by the powerful stasis charm the man had cast. Harry's stomach dropped when Barty next raised a huge knife to his own arm. 

They'd talked about this. Talked about this a lot, actually. Harry had  _ sworn _ he understood what was about to happen at this point, and that he was not to interfere, at any cost, because it might upset the ritual which would negate a year's worth of preparation and would break Barty's heart. 

So Harry stayed silent and pressed his hands over his eyes as Barty brought the magically-charged knife down on his arm. He only heard a wet slicing sound, a gasp from Barty, and a splash when the offering hit the surface of the water. 

There were no great sparks or a roll of thunder in the distance, then. Only steam and a sense of agitation and anticipation shared between Harry, Barty and the snake. 

Finally, a tall, pale man with dark hair rose from the water and accepted the gifted robes he was handed by Karkaroff's empty husk. 

Once the man was wearing clothes and had stepped out of the ritual cauldron, Harry looked over for real and—

Tom Riddle had been a handsome boy. He'd been all broad shoulders and slim hips, thick curly hair and high cheekbones, with eyes that Harry would have called beautiful if they hadn't been so terribly cold. 

This man that stepped out of the cauldron though was more than handsome -- he was beautiful in the way Harry imagined great heroes of long-forgotten times to be beautiful, like King Arthur and Lancelot, or Alexander the Great. 

There was nothing boyish about his looks anymore, but Harry could still see Tom Riddle in his features. The high cheekbones, for example, and the slightly wavy hair. 

"Master," Barty groaned, holding tightly onto what remained of his right arm. 

Harry couldn't be entirely sure from where he was standing because Barty kept his body between Harry and his arm, but they'd planned on him offering up just a hand. Yet, it looked like Barty was holding onto… 

"Foolish boy!" Voldemort hissed and Harry flinched, but the man hadn't even been talking to him. 

Voldemort knelt down next to Barty with his long, pale wand in his hand, and immediately began casting a very long, very complicated spell. 

Something that looked like a Patronus started flowing from the tip of his wand and started weaving itself to the ragged, bleeding skin of Barty's… upper arm? 

"You cut over your elbow," Harry whispered, eyes wide. "You're almost up to the shoulder! You said… you said  _ a hand would be enough!"  _

"A hand would have been enough," Barty choked out, "a finger would have also been enough. But the more…" 

"Hush, no speaking," Voldemort commanded. "This is highly complex magic." 

So Harry and Barty shut up, watching great strands of silver thread flow from Voldemort's wand to weave a new arm for Barty. It was only then that Harry noticed that Voldemort was chanting the spell in Parseltongue and he looked up in surprise. You could  _ do that?  _

Finally, after long minutes, Barty's new arm was done. It looked silvery and reflected the sunlight, but other than that, it looked exactly like Barty's old arm. 

"I had to, master," Barty said imploringly. "This will have… such a huge effect on the rest of your immortal life. What is one mere mortal arm?" 

"But it was  _ your _ arm," Harry said and fell to his knees beside Barty just as Voldemort got up. 

He hugged Barty's side and felt like crying, but no tears would come. Maybe it had all been a little much for him, after all.

"Will you be fine now? Does it feel… normal?" He looked down at the magical arm and let his fingers trail over it. It felt warm and… alive. 

"It doesn't feel normal at all," Barty admitted, staring at his new arm in awe, "but it feels incredible. I just hope…  _ Wingardium Leviosa."  _

Barty cast the spell with his right hand, and it worked flawlessly. The ritual cauldron started floating and Barty grinned, relieved.

"So you can still imitate Alastor Moody," Harry grinned back before he realised something and stopped. "But… will you even come back to Hogwarts? After all, you have everything you'd planned on getting from there: Blood of the enemy -- though it's a different blood than you'd chosen originally?" 

"The objective stays the same," Voldemort's smooth voice interrupted them, and both Harry and Barty turned around abruptly and got up. 

He was standing there with the snake draped over his shoulders, wand twirling in his right hand. As he approached them, Harry realised why the robes had been so big: Voldemort was  _ tall,  _ taller even than Dumbledore or Sirius, but it didn't make him look as gangly as Sirius, or as haggard as Dumbledore -- instead it was simply imposing.

"The objective?" Harry asked. 

"Get Harry Potter out of Hogwarts with no one the wiser," Voldemort explained, amusement quirking up one corner of his mouth. "The stakes merely are not as high as they were before. I have returned, even stronger than before, and my body is that of a young man again. Seems like the first time Albus Dumbledore and I considered each other an enemy was when I applied for the post of the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher back in the sixties."

"The sixties?" Harry frowned because that was  _ so long ago, _ but then he remembered that the Chamber had first been opened in the forties, and Voldemort had been a  _ teenager _ then. "Wait, you wanted to be a teacher?" 

"No, I have always  _ been _ a teacher. Is that not right, Barty?" 

"He's taught me so many things during the War," Barty explained wistfully. "Dark Magic, but also Arithmancy, Runes… you stand before a prodigy, Harry. A genius! He can craft spells and invent potions as if it's  _ nothing." _

"Huh… that kind of reminds me of what Ollivander said," Harry said slowly and drew his wand. "He said that our wands are brothers, and that he expects great things from me, because you too did great things… Terrible, but great, he called it."

When no answer came, Harry looked up and was surprised to see Voldemort look down at him with a calculating expression. 

"Give me your wand," the man commanded, but there was no viciousness behind it, so Harry handed it over. 

To his great surprise, there were sparks when Voldemort's long, thin fingers closed around the smooth wood -- the kind magical children experienced in wand shops all over the magical world. 

"Curious and curiouser," Voldemort muttered and got out his own wand again. "Here, indulge me, boy." 

Harry took the proffered wand with shaking fingers. Don't think about how this wand killed your parents. Do not. No. Absolutely not—

There were sparks, and Harry felt breathless and warm, the way he had back on his first day in Diagon Alley. 

"How is this possible?" Harry asked. "Is this—did we just  _ bond _ with each other's wands? Do things like that  _ happen?"  _

"Apparently, they do," Voldemort commented idly and they exchanged wands once more. Harry's wand still felt familiar. 

"This is fate." 

Harry and Voldemort both looked over towards Barty who was watching them with a rapt expression.

"The prophecy, all those similarities… You two were never supposed to be enemies! Who knows whether there even  _ is _ a prophecy!" 

"Barty–" Voldemort started, but Barty merely shook his head and held up a hand. 

"No, master, listen! Maybe it was all just a ploy by Dumbledore, and maybe he and Snape worked together, or maybe he just made Snape  _ think  _ there was a prophecy, but there  _ wasn't."  _

Voldemort was quiet at that and looked to be considering Barty's words. Harry was just confused by all those revelations and took a step closer to Barty. He wasn't sure whether he was allowed to touch him in the Dark Lord's presence…

Fortunately, Barty relieved him of his indecision by pulling him into a hug and Harry went gratefully, hiding his face against Barty's chest. 

"Maybe there is merit to your words," Voldemort acquiesced. "We will look into it, in time. For now, though… this body has never eaten, and it's making this fact known. Come, we'll eat." 

-o-

Lunch was a quiet affair. They had sandwiches and tea and it all felt terribly domestic, somehow. 

Harry watched the Dark Lord Voldemort eat a sandwich with ham and pickled cucumbers and was amazed by how… peaceful he looked. There wasn't even a hint of cackling maniac and Harry wondered… was this truly the man who'd held a whole country in his terrifying grip? 

He looked just like a normal man (arguably one with red eyes) and was conversing with Barty about what life at Hogwarts was like at the moment. Harry still felt overwhelmed at the fact that the resurrection had just…  _ happened like that  _ and was content with listening to them talk. 

Curiously, it felt to Harry like there was no thirteen year gap between when those two had last spoken to each other. It all felt very familiar and Harry frowned at the thought that someone like Voldemort might have… friends? Or at least people he liked? 

"And McGonagall's still Deputy Headmistress. If you ask me, she's pining after the old man something fierce," Barty said with a grin, sandwich forgotten on his plate. "If you could see the way she looks at him during staff meetings… Doe eyes par excellence, I'm telling you. There's no way she'd ever not be of the same opinion as him." 

"Hm, I see," Voldemort hummed. "What about the security protocols? You mentioned in your letters that they have become lax."

"Now that Dumbledore doesn't want me to take care of security because of my, mh,  _ mentorship _ of Harry, they have gone back to the way before I arrived. Some of the wards are deactivated and literally anyone could just walk right up to the castle if they so pleased. It's ridiculous."

"Or they could just use the Honeydukes entrance," Harry suggested idly. 

"Honeydukes?" Barty asked with a frown. "Wait, the sweets shop in Hogsmeade?" 

"Yeah, there's, uh, there's a tunnel? You have to enter the Honeydukes cellar and then you can walk straight into Hogwarts. You come out on the third floor. Should I have told you that? You're… not just gonna enter Hogwarts, right?" 

He looked at Voldemort with a dubious expression, but the man only looked back with one eyebrow raised. 

"That would quite work against my desire to stay anonymous, would it not?" Voldemort pushed his empty plate away and rested his elbows on the tabletop to steeple his fingers. "No. My plans are very much different this time around. No one will know that I am back except for you two. Barty, you have instructed the boy to look neither Albus Dumbledore, nor Severus Snape in the eyes?" 

"He has," Harry answered himself and looked over to Barty with a smile. "He's been a good teacher." 

"That does not surprise me," Voldemort commented and nodded at Barty with what could almost be called a smile. "He was a good student as well, after all. Ah, that reminds me. Do you wish to continue your education with me, Barty?" 

Barty snorted. "I'm no student anymore, master. I may not have had much use of my youth, but it's gone either way. I'm better suited to teaching now." 

Voldemort went quiet at that. Harry looked between the two and wondered just what their relationship had been like before Voldemort's defeat through baby Harry (and what a strange thought  _ that _ was!) 

"I mean," Harry heard himself say and flinched a little when the two men looked at him, "it's still really early, isn't it? Voldemort, you've only just been resurrected. And you, Barty, have only been able to be yourself for short periods of time for… thirteen years now? Maybe you guys need to, wow that sounds stupid even in my head, but maybe you need to, uh, find yourselves first? Before you think about yourselves in relation to others, I mean."

"You were right," Voldemort replied suavely, but it was directed at Barty. "The boy can be surprisingly insightful. Very well, I shall concede and spend time to  _ find myself,  _ as young Harry so aptly put it. Show me your Mark, Barty." 

Barty obediently rolled up his sleeve and Voldemort and Harry peered down at the tattooed skull and snake. As far as Harry could tell, it was still as pale as it had been before the resurrection. 

"That is good," Voldemort muttered more to himself than to them. "I have not activated it, and even my presence did not trigger it to go back to completely active. That means that no one is any wiser to my return but you two and Igor Karkaroff. It was him who sold you out, Barty, was it not?" 

"I'm… you  _ know _ it was, master. Why would you–oh! You're going to avenge me?" 

"You have always been loyal, and Lord Voldemort rewards loyalty greatly. Come." The two stood up from the table, but Voldemort paused halfway to the door. "What about you, Harry? How far goes your new allegiance?" 

Harry gulped and looked to Barty for help on how to respond -- yet, Barty was steadfastly refusing to look back at him, so Harry was left to his own devices to make a decision. 

"I… I'll come with you, but… I might leave if it becomes too much. What are you planning to do?" 

"It  _ will  _ end with him dead," Voldemort said as if he wasn't just casually talking about someone  _ dying.  _

But he  _ was _ the one responsible for Barty having to endure Azkaban and his father's harsh imprisonment, was he not? 

"I want to be there," Harry decided. 

-o-

When Harry and Barty returned to Hogwarts, Hermione was already waiting for them by the front gates, fretting. 

"Harry, you were gone so long, I was so worried!" She pulled him into a hug and Harry returned it gladly. "Are you alright?" 

"He reacted badly to the inoculation," Barty, once more in the guise of Alastor Moody, explained. "He'll be fine in a couple days, but until then he'll feel under the weather. You will look out for him, yes?" 

"Of course," Hermione nodded fervently. "Poor Harry! I, myself, had no adverse effects, but then my parents are dentists of course and I got all my muggle inoculations when I was young, so my body was used to it. You didn't even get your muggle inoculations, did you?" 

"No, I… I didn't," Harry admitted. "Alastor said I can get them this summer."

"That's good!" Hermione let go of him and beamed at Alastor. "It's good that someone finally takes care of him. Come on, Harry, it's almost time for dinner. Afterwards, you really should sleep." 

"You're right," Harry sighed. "I'll see you tomorrow, Alastor. I want to study Charms because there'll be a test next month." 

"Oh I'm so proud of you, Harry," Hermione grinned before Barty could reply. "You'll have your pick of the best jobs there are if you keep going like that!" 

"I'll make sure he keeps up with his studies," Barty promised and ruffled Harry's hair which he  _ hated.  _ Then, he stepped close and put his arms around Harry to whisper into his ear. "See you tomorrow, boy. Sleep well, and remember — I'm just ten minutes away if you need me." 

"I'll be fine," Harry promised. 

As he walked to dinner with an excited Hermione who was babbling her head off about going to school in France, and applications, and Viktor, Harry realised belatedly that thanks to all the excitement with the resurrection and the… Karkaroff incident… he'd forgotten to ask for the Dark Mark. 

But maybe it was for the best, he decided. After all, he'd still be sharing a dorm with the other boys at least until the end of the year. Three more months…

Three more months, and then he'd have his peace from the constant hostility of the other students, and he'd actually live with at least one adult who cared about him. He wondered briefly how Sirius would fit into this… and whether his godfather would be able to accept that Harry… oh but he wouldn't, would he? He'd loved Harry's parents fiercely, and now Harry was partly responsible for the resurrection of bloody  _ Voldemort _ and had a… a  _ thing _ with the Dark Lord's most loyal Death Eater. And he wanted a Dark Mark himself! 

Harry felt ill when they sat down. Sirius may be freed because Voldemort had sacrificed Peter Pettigrew to help clear the man's name, but he would  _ never _ accept the Dark Lord. 

When Hermione piled vegetables onto his plate, Harry could only look down at the table with a heavy heart. How could he have only thought about this now? Sirius was going to hate him! 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit August 2nd, 2020:
> 
> For both new folk and those rereading — next week, on the 11th, I have a VERY important exam that marks the end of my apprenticeship. It's the last of three, and after that, I will finally have proper time to write again. 
> 
> Thanks for all the comments and kudos you're still leaving, you lovely folks <3


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rab is now a certified nurse and doesn't have to study her ass off anymore!
> 
> There'll be so much more writing now than there has been lately and I'm PUMPED!

The day after Lord Voldemort's anticlimactic resurrection, a Sunday, Harry was in front of the DADA office before breakfast. There was, indeed, a Charms test coming up but he'd only used it as an excuse to go and be cuddled and to assure himself that no, the new arm did not fall off during the night. 

Before he could even knock, the door opened and Alastor Moody's grizzled face peered out at him. The deep frown lines were Moody's, but the impish grin was all Barty.

Harry found himself pulled inside before he was able to say hello but didn't mind it much when he was soon enveloped in a warm hug.

"You know," Harry mumbled, returning the embrace, "I think I found a weakness of the Polyjuice Potion."

"Oh?", Barty asked, burying his nose in Harry's hair.

"You smell like yourself, even when you're Moody. At first I thought you just continued smelling like Moody, but that's not it."

Barty was quiet for a bit after that, and Harry returned the hug just as quietly.

"That could definitely pose to be a problem in some contexts," the man finally allowed. "Imagine trying to trick someone's lover… no dice. Or any person that owns a pet with a nose!"

"Good thing he didn't have you pose as Filch then. Last time I checked, Mrs. Norris had a nose," Harry said and laughed when Barty made a noise of outrage.

"Harry! I think the only person in this castle that has greasier hair is the resident dungeon bat. I could never!"

"Don't worry, I wasn't suggesting you should do it," Harry giggled.

Barty huffed in mock-annoyance and let go of him only to put his hands on the boy's shoulders. "Enough banter now. How are you? And I mean that – I want to know how you are."

"Oh. Uh. Surprisingly fine, actually," Harry replied almost shyly. "There were no late-night bouts of bad conscience or anything. How about you? School will go on for another three months. Don't tell me you don't miss him."

"No, Mr Potter," Barty admonished, "you don't get to change the subject this easily. Nothing? No regrets? No would-that-I-had's? You're just… chill?"

Harry shrugged. "I've had a lot of time to get used to the idea of what we were going to do. The following-through part of it didn't much change my resolve. The only thing I'm worried about is… well, it's Sirius."

Barty made a face that looked like a grimace of pain with Moody's features. "No, yeah, I totally get that. Is he still outside of Britain, do you know?"

"Yeah, he told me he'd wait until after the Pettigrew trial is over in case anyone holds a grudge. Did you, I mean, you're… almost the same age, aren't you?"

Harry tried not to think about the implications of Barty being _ about Sirius' age _ when it came to their – _ thing, _ and instead wiped Barty's hands off his shoulders so he could hug him again.

"Mmh," Barty hummed, "they were two years above me, Sirius and his friends. We knew of each other, but we weren't close or anything."

"But you were close with Sirius' brother? Regulus? What was he like?"

"Regulus and I were acquaintances more than friends, and only really after I came into my master's service," Barty hummed in thought. "Regulus was everything Sirius was not. He wasn't a natural genius, so he tried hard in school. He was quiet, introverted. He always looked… melancholy, if you ask me."

"And Sirius was the opposite of that?"

Harry felt a pang in his chest. He didn't even know anything about Sirius except for that brief meeting last year, and then the letters they exchanged inbetween.

Barty must have noticed he was having a bit of a moment, because he found himself pulled along towards the armchairs. Sitting in the man's lap, Harry cuddled close, feet stuck between the seat and the armrest.

"Sirius was always extroverted," Barty told him, "almost to the point of obnoxiousness if I'm being honest. Him and his friends always got into trouble but they were, apparently, always charming enough to escape _ serious _ punishment. In truth, my last two years were a lot calmer after they'd left."

"But they didn't bully you, did they?" Harry asked, alarmed.

"Oh, no, I was just one of those caught in the crossfire from time to time. With my, well, father being the head of the DMLE, people generally tried not to antagonise me too much. Especially those that planned on becoming Aurors."

So Sirius had wanted to become an Auror? Or had he been one, even? Harry didn't feel like asking because he got the distinct feeling that Barty was merely humouring him by sharing some tidbits about his experiences in school. Maybe he hadn't liked school?

"That's a relief," he sighed. "Do you think we should go to breakfast? I… kinda want to see the Prophet today. Just to make sure no one, well –"

"Mhh. I daresay we'd have noticed if news had come out, Harry," Barty laughed and helped him climb off his lap. "But you're right, we should go to the Great Hall. Separately, hm?"

"Yeah… you're probably right. I'll be studying in the library for my Charms test later and come by after lunch? I might bring Luna, I haven't seen her much. Is that alright? We wouldn't be able to talk about, you know, _ him." _

"I'll survive," Barty grinned, leaned down and kissed Harry on the forehead before shooing him outside.

Harry stayed standing in front of the door with a hand pressed to his forehead for a moment after it had closed. He blushed. That had been _ so sweet. _

-o-

Harry was a fool. All it had taken was for him to wander down a corridor sometime after dinner, lost in thought, at an inopportune moment. 

"Mister Potter," a familiar voice drawled from behind him, and Harry stopped dead in his tracks

"Professor Snape," he answered, voice guarded and posture forcibly relaxed.

"What are you doing this close to Ravenclaw Tower at this time? Out to have a little rendezvous with your… _ friend?" _

A rendezvous with Luna? Harry had to fight down the urge to smirk with all he had. "No, sir. I merely escorted her to her common room and wanted to take the long way back to mine."

"Mhh. Battling a bad conscience, I suppose?"

Harry stilled. "What?"

Snape used that moment to pass by him and take position in front of him. How much did he know? Had anyone else found out? The Prophet hadn't mentioned _ anything. _ Would he have to kill Snape now? Or… could he get Barty to do it for them?

"So there _ is _ empathy left in you," Snape spat out. "I believe it failed to escape even _ your _ notice that the headmaster is in a bad shape ever since you _ maliciously _ attacked him in cold blood."

Harry's shoulders sagged in relief. This was about _ Dumbledore, _ and not Voldemort. "I'm… I don't even know what exactly happened that day. It was, it was all a blur, and it felt like a dream, but… I still don't want to see you, except for classes. I know you did something. I saw it."

Harry never once looked up to Snape's face, but he could hear the sneer in the man's face. "Just like your arrogant father. You know everything better, don't you? Nothing could ever get by the marvelous Harry Potter, is that not so?"

Harry didn't answer.

"And now you're not even Gryffindor enough to answer me. So you're not only a disappointment for your mother, but for your father as w–"

Snape didn't get any further than this. Harry had whipped his wand out in less than a second, and the professor crumbled before him after a lightning-fast Stupefy Barty and him had been practising a couple weeks ago. 

Clearly, he was a fool.

-o-

"And you're absolutely sure you only stunned him and did nothing else?"

"It's not like I lost control _ completely, _ professor," Harry argued and saw Barty roll his eyes in response. 

"No, you only lost control insofar as to stun one of the only two people who've started to become suspicious of us," Barty growled in his Moody voice and hobbled along beside him.

Harry felt terrible. Barty was mad at him, and it had never felt as bad as this to have someone disappointed in him.

"He said I was a disappointment to both my mother and my father," Harry pressed out, voice a lot wobblier than he wanted it to be.

"Oh," Barty said softly and stopped dead in his tracks. "You didn't mention that earlier."

"... I panicked, I just wanted you to come as quickly as possible."

Barty sighed again and pulled Harry into a hug. Harry could hear the eye whirring about, checking for potential witnesses to their closeness. "I'm amazed you didn't chop his shriveled little bollocks off, actually. Yeah, no, whatever. I'm not mad or anything, just a little stressed now. Come on, let's keep going."

They found Snape where Harry had left him: haphazardly stuffed into a closet with the invisibility cloak thrown over him. Barty took it off the man and looked disgusted. At first, Harry thought it was because of Snape, but then he held the cloak at arm's length until Harry took it.

"Oh, your father made you wear one, didn't he?" Harry asked, rather insensitively. He could tell because Barty's face closed off immediately. "Sorry! Sorry! Let's just take care of Snape for now!"

Barty nodded, still with that defeated look on his face, and stared down at the unconscious potions master. "I'll… it might be a blessing in disguise, Harry. Getting the better of Snape like this… I hadn't expected him to go down without a fight. This opportunity… no. I can't not use it."

It felt more like Barty was talking to himself. He got Moody's wand out and pointed it at Snape. The unconscious man turned into a bat, still sleeping, and Barty stuffed it into the pockets of his big leather coat.

"I will take care of him. Be surprised when he is declared missing tomorrow."

"You'll… are you going to kill him?" Harry didn't know whether he was excited or grossed out by that idea. Maybe he was just grossed out by his own excitement.

"Hmm, no," Barty mused. "I will tranquilize him further, and then I will ask my master what I am to do with the traitor. The way I know him, he will want to take care of him himself."

"So it was actually a good thing?"

Barty couldn't _ quite _ keep the grin off his face. "No, Harry, it was very much a bad thing you did – lucky for you, you got _ me _ to take care of you when shit hits the fan. Please don't go around stunning more Light-affiliation wizards and witches, yes?"

"Got it," Harry nodded. "Next time, I will stun a Dark-affiliation wizard to shake things up."

"Oh you menace," Barty growled and pulled him into another hug. "You are a terrible boy, and I never want you to change."

"I don't think I could even if I tried," Harry laughed, relieved, and returned the hug with all he had. "I'm really glad I have you – and _ him _ too, I guess – to take care of my messes now."

"I'll let you know how it went once I know more," Barty said quietly and let go of him. "Get under your cloak. Did anyone see you take this route?"

"Uh, no. Nobody."

"Good. Return to your dorm immediately. Slip in with other returning students and immediately go to your bed. Are the curtains drawn?"

"They always are, yes."

"Warded? Like I taught you?"

"Warded like you taught me."

"That's my boy," Barty crooned. "Get into bed now. You went there straight after you escorted Luna home."

"Got it!" Harry nodded and let go of Barty to pull his cloak out of his satchel again. "And Barty? Thank you. Really, I mean it. For everything."

"Silly boy," Barty laughed, but his eyes looked a little wet. "Off you go now. I'll see you at breakfast."

Harry nodded, threw the hood of the cloak over his head, and cast a silence spell on his feet before running off towards Gryffindor Tower.

-o-

A letter arrived for Harry on Wednesday morning. He knew that creamy parchment and ornate handwriting by now, so he nonchalantly put it into his satchel to read later, in private.

For the first time since starting at Hogwarts, he wondered why all the owls arrived at the same time each morning when all parents, friends, etc, would inevitably send their letters at different times. He also wondered whether Voldemort would be able to overcome that… spell? if he set his mind to it.

"What's that letter?" Hermione asked, direct as always.

"Oh, it's from the doctor's office I went to to get inoculated," he lied easily. "Professor Moody had them draw my blood as well because I never got magical blood work done before. Just a precaution, really."

"Oh," Hermione answered, surprised. "That's very sensible of him. Maybe I should have gotten that done as well… I'll write to my parents about it immediately!"

And with that, she was lost in her notes. Luna was late for breakfast today, and Viktor was with his classmates for a change, so Harry said goodbye to Hermione and went to an unused classroom close to the Charms classroom to read his letter in peace.

_ Dear Harry, _

_ I trust you are well – you are in capable hands, after all. _

_ The very same capable hands, actually, that have recently informed me about your little indiscretion. Rest assured that this morning, a Tuesday, a package with air holes poked into it arrived at my current lodgings. _

_ I would have been irate about such foolishness if you and your protector had not dealt with it most commendably. Your cover is secure, and one thorn in my side has been dealt with most pleasingly. Do be cautious to exert more situational awareness in the future though. _

_ Please see to it that this letter is burned to ash, and then vanish the ash. _

_ But before you do that, I want to extend an invitation for the Easter holidays this year. Your protector will approach you with the details, but do consider the offer already. I should be glad to get to know both of you better: one anew, the other for the first time. _

_ Yours, _

_ A friend _

Harry felt his heartbeat quicken more with each line. At the end there, the paragraph concerning the invitation looked a little different than the rest of the letter. The letters were more slanted, and the writing looked more hurried, as if it had been written quickly. Had Voldemort been debating with himself whether to extend that offer?

That seemed so _ human. _

Right after this thought, though, Harry felt bad. He had seen another side of the man this past weekend, and when they had first gone to visit him, hadn't he? Lord Voldemort was not, or not _ only, _ a heartless monster. Because what he'd done to Karkaroff… Harry shivered and burned the letter before vanishing the ash like he'd been told.

After that, he went to his Charms class and felt like he really aced that test he'd been dreading.

-o-

News of Severus Snape's disappearance spread like wildfire on Thursday. Up until Wednesday, it had been quietly assumed that he'd had something important to do and had to leave the castle urgently without bothering to inform anyone of where he was going. All the students he was supposed to teach from Monday to Wednesday had been especially silent in their worry for him lest someone might actually go and look for him. (Luna was supposed to have a Potions lesson on Tuesday and she'd shared that observation with Harry.)

Not for the first time, Harry wondered whether someone like Snape would have stayed a teacher under anyone but Dumbledore because if at least roughly 80% of the school held a strong dislike for you, chances were you were a shit teacher. When he shared that observation with Barty on the weekend, the man laughed loudly.

They were inside the Defense teacher's bedroom, with Barty finally being himself again, and Harry greatly enjoyed seeing him laugh so freely.

"When I found out about Snape having become a teacher here, I couldn't believe it," Barty chuckled. "He was in your parents' year at school, remember? And they were _ vicious _ to him. Well, not Lily, but the four guys. He was just as vicious back of course, part of the baby Death Eaters that he was."

"Were you part of the baby Death Eaters as well?" Harry asked and thought it a very strange visual to imagine Barty and Snape being _ friendly _ with each other.

"Me? Oh no, nonono. Remember my bio father? Noooo, word about my allegiance wasn't allowed to come out under any circumstances," Barty explained feverishly. "I was a covert Death Eater. There weren't even _ rumours _ about my affiliation with anything Dark, or I would have lost both my reputation and my ability to filch reports from my bio father's desk."

"And he hid your Dark Mark? Or were you not marked until after you left school?"

"I was marked the day we met face to face," Barty hummed, a small smile playing on his lips. "Even if he hadn't had a way to hide it, I wouldn't have left without it. I would have found a way to hide it from the other kids in the dorm."

"I see," Harry replied slowly. "And you were 15 then?"

"Turned 15 the summer before, yes. It was during winter break of my fifth year."

"And _ I'm _ too young to get the Dark Mark even though that will be me in roughly half a year?"

"... well," Barty gulped, blushing a little. "Do as I say, not as I do?"

"That's not good enough, mister," Harry smirked and shook his head. "You have no right to talk me out of this! The next time I meet him, I'll get that bloody tattoo. No objections!"

Instead of arguing, Barty beamed at Harry. "But that's all I wanted to hear, Harry: true conviction! You _ really _ want it, and not just to make me happy or whatever. Oh Harry, he'll be so proud to have you in his service!"

Barty looked proud, and Harry blushed. He still wasn't entirely used to this adults being proud of him business. They were both sprawled out on big cushions on the ground, but each with their own cushion, and Harry didn't like that anymore. He left his seat and crawled the short distance over to sit next to Barty.

Barty welcomed him with open arms, and Harry snuggled right in.

"My master told me to ask you whether… whether you'd like to come visit him during the spring holidays," Barty said quietly. "I… want to go, and badly, but I'll stay here with you if you don't want to go as well."

Harry felt a pang of _ fondness _ in his chest. "Oh Barty… you're way too sweet, stop it! Of course I want to go! He already told me in his letter that you were going to ask. Where are we going? Does he have a house? Do you? Is he staying in that old manor? Surely he isn't staying there, is he?"

"Hah, calm down, Harry," Barty laughed. "I'm, he told me you'd probably want to come, but, well. I still can't quite believe my luck. I was so afraid I was going to have to _ choose, _ and yet... you gave me everything I could have ever wanted on a silver platter."

"Don't say it like that, you're making me blush…" Harry buried his face against Barty's chest. 

"And rightfully so," Barty said with conviction. "As to your questions… he has several properties, the way I understand it. I've only seen one of them, but I don't think it'll be that one. It's just a little flat in a residential area close to Diagon. He mentioned having properties that are a bit more out of the way."

_ "Barty," _ Harry gasped. "That means I'll be seeing you for _ two weeks. _ As _ yourself!" _

Barty held him closer in response. "I'm – not sure what that says about me, but I'm still surprised you're looking forward to seeing me that much."

"All it tells me is that you're too humble for your own good," Harry shrugged. "After all, Voldemort is not known for choosing weak and uninteresting people to surround himself with, is he? If someone as powerful as him drops everything to come save you the _ minute _ he hears you're still alive, I'd say you did something right."

Barty stilled against him. "He did that, didn't he? He left the safe obscurity of Romania on the off chance I was still useful… fuck. I never thought about it like this! He came back to Britain because of _ me!" _

That seemed to have a profound effect on Barty. Harry realised that him getting his Hogwarts letter, and finding out about a whole other world after ten years of Dursley-induced misery, was roughly on the same level as Barty having been kept a mind-controlled prisoner by his father for 12 years. It was just… Voldemort instead of a Hogwarts letter? That metaphor was lacking, but the similarities were there.

"He did. He trusts you," Harry said. "He believed you when you told him that I'm on, on your side. On _ his _ side. And he wasn't disappointed because you truly are loyal, and you wouldn't lie to him."

Barty didn't answer but there was a suspicious sniffling, and when Harry looked up, it was to find Barty crying softly. Were those happy tears? He sincerely hoped they were happy tears! When he asked, just to make sure, Barty nodded.

"It's just… he's always been everything to me, and I suppose I never allowed myself to entertain the thought that… well…"

"That he could like you just as much?" Harry offered.

"Like? Who said anything about _ like?" _ Barty gasped, cheeks turning red. "We were at trusting just now! Loyalty! He's a Dark Lord, he doesn't _ do _ like!"

Harry felt a grin spread on his face and raised an eyebrow at Barty's antics. "Is that so? I dunno, Barty, but he seemed pretty fond of you to me."

Barty actually got up this time and started pacing the room. "Harry, I'm – not exactly the most stable person. You can't just... throw these kinda curveballs at me and expect me to function normally for the next school day."

Well, now Harry just felt bad. He thought he was merely teasing Barty a little about his very obvious obsession with Voldemort, but it seemed that he'd unearthed some serious insecurities he'd rather not have forced the man to face.

"I'm really sorry, Barty," Harry reassured the pacing man and got up, hugging himself. "I just, I thought it was so obvious that he, you know? I merely wanted to tease you a little."

To his relief, Barty stopped his pacing and shook his head. "No, I'm, I'm not mad, Harry," he said. "I just, I can't deal with these thoughts, these, well, hopes? He's, he's so far away, and I only just got him _ back, _ and –"

"Oh," Harry realised, "you still miss him terribly and you wish you were with him..."

"Yes! But also – no. I don't regret staying here with you, Harry, not at all, it's just…" Barty sighed, came over, and wrapped Harry in a big hug. "I'm just being a child. I want to have my cake and eat it too. It's not long until the Easter holidays, and then not _ terribly _ long until the third task after which we're out of here."

"And we can meet him in between? During Hogsmeade weekends, I mean. Or just on normal weekends. Who cares if anyone gets suspicious? Three months and we're out of here!"

It was bittersweet to think he wasn't going to see Hogwarts again anytime soon, but the people here had truly been kinda terrible towards him. He was sure that between Voldemort and Barty, he could surreptitiously arrange meetings with Luna, and maybe even an international portkey to Hermione every now and then, and maybe he could sometimes write a letter to Hagrid, and Sirius… well, he'd first wait for Sirius' name to be cleared, and then he'd set up a meeting with him too.

-o-

In the week after Snape's disappearance, a new teacher for Potions was announced at breakfast on Friday morning. The collective student body held their breath as an unassuming man with dirty blonde hair and rather casual robes rose when his name was called.

"I do believe Professor Seloquent will serve the school well as an interim teacher for Potions class," Dumbledore continued with the air of someone whose heart wasn't exactly in it. "Normal Potions lessons will resume as of next week. Thank you for your attention."

There was silence for a beat or two, and then the _ mumbling _started.

"He looks _ nice," _ Harry could hear Neville from further up the table. _ "Normal. _ Did they make a mistake?"

Lavender giggled. "How many scary dungeon bats can there be, silly? Maybe your prayers were finally answered."

"I would enjoy not feeling like I have to throw up from anxiety when I walk down the stairs to the dungeons," Parvati muttered and the rest of the fourth year Gryffindors nodded in empathy.

"You lot reckon he'll just, I don't know, stay gone? Snape I mean?" Ron mused. "Guy like him must have had more than one enemy."

"Wouldn't surprise me at all if a N.E.W.T. student snapped and drowned him in the Black Lake or something," Dean shrugged. 

There was some uneasy laughter and then the conversation died down. After Karkaroff's disappearance, him having been drowned in the Black Lake had been a theory by some of the older students as well. 

That's when Hermione leaned over to Harry to whisper conspiratorially into his ear: "You know, both Karkaroff and Snape used to be Death Eaters… what if someone is targeting Death Eaters? I mean, I'm not saying it's _ Moody, _ but what if it _ was?" _

Harry did not like the rush of emotion that was coursing through his body at that statement. Still, he kept his expression neutral like Barty had taught him for dealing with the likes of Dumbledore, Snape or ministry personnel.

"I think he is more bark than bite, Mione," Harry shrugged. "He wants to keep a low profile and be done with the school once the year is out." He lowered his voice even more. "Remember? He wants to tutor me and let me live where there's only people who are nice to me. He can't afford to be hunting retired Death Eaters and potentially being found out."

Hermione nodded grimly. "I'm sorry Harry, that was uncalled for. I shouldn't have – I'm sorry. He has your best interest at heart, I should know that."

"It's fine," Harry lied even though it wasn't. "It was a logical conclusion, and you're very good at these sorts of leaps. Maybe it's the right idea though? Maybe someone out there is hunting traitorous Death Eaters? Someone who stayed loyal I mean, someone with a grudge. But since we don't have a list of covertly loyal Death Eaters… it could be anybody. Seems like everyone and their mothers was a follower back in the day."

"Ugh, you're right," Hermione sighed. "I might look into it more, but I still have so much to prepare for leaving Great Britain with Viktor…"

"Don't stress yourself, Hermione," Harry said. "We don't have to play detective _ every _ year."

Hermione snorted out a chunk of her porridge at that and was _ mortified _ as she dabbed at her chin. "Harry Potter," she finally wheezed. "Are you _ growing up?" _

"I suppose I am," Harry chuckled and wondered if maybe… she was right.

-o-

"Oh you're such a _ child, _ Harry Potter," Luna chided him as she drew card after card. "Keeping all those mean cards just so I would have my hands full."

"I didn't specifically mean for _ you _ to draw all those," Harry defended himself while trying to keep his cackling in check. "I had originally planned on Alastor getting all those but I _ think _ he's using his eye to win."

Barty gasped in mock-indignation. "I would never!"

Luna turned her (not quite serious) glare on Barty instead. "No? Never? What if I don't believe you?"

"What is it with these witch hunts," Barty glared right back, barely keeping himself from that particular giggle Harry knew he had that Alastor certainly did not have. "I have half a mind to give both of you a detention so I have a reason to beat you _ every evening of the week. _ Fair and square, of course. We don't cheat in this house."

"Oh it is _ on," _ Luna accepted, grinning. "But you take out the eye next round!"

Barty made a face that didn't look like Alastor at all and Harry rolled his eyes fondly.

"Stop being a baby, Alastor," Harry giggled. "If you are so fair and square about playing, not having the eye in won't change anything, right?"

"You two are menaces," Barty growled. "Menaces, I say!"

But he still reached up and took out the eye. A gesture of his hand conjured an eye patch, and he put that over his empty eye socket. Harry was glad because it looked kinda gross though he'd never tell Barty that. Not that it was his own face of course but… well. He really couldn't wait for the time when he could just be with Barty in his own body.

Coincidentally, the next game worked out to be a clear loss for Barty and Harry, and then, not quite as coincidentally anymore, another, and finally, a third one. Luna glared at Barty again.

"Don't you dare tell me this was a coincidence," she laughed good-naturedly. "You're a liar and a cheat, Alastor Moody!"

Barty had the decency to blush and popped the eye back in as he opened his mouth to reply. Instead of speaking, though, he shut it again and watched his office door. Harry and Luna sobered up and followed his gaze.

It opened shortly afterwards, and two men in Auror uniforms came in.

"Alastor," one of them greeted. "You have a minute for us? It's about a case. We need your judgment, and your observations wouldn't be amiss either."

"Kingsley," Barty greeted back and Harry was once again relieved that the man was so well-prepared. "And John. Is this about the disappearance of one Severus Snape?"

Kingsley threw an uneasy glance at Harry and Luna. "We'd rather discuss this in private, Alastor. If you're… finished?"

He pointedly looked at their deck of playing cards and the three empty cups of tea on the table.

"He lost," Luna informed the two Aurors. "And badly so. All is once again right with the world. Come on, Harry."

Harry nodded and followed her outside after briefly pressing his leg against Barty's under the table.

When they were well on their way to Ravenclaw tower, away from prying eyes in an empty corridor, Luna looked over at him.

"Will not-Alastor be alright with those Aurors?"

"Probably, yeah," Harry sighed. "He's well-prepared."

"When will we tell him? That I know he's not really Alastor Moody, I mean."

"I've been… I've kinda been procrastinating on that," Harry admitted. "Maybe we should tell him this weekend? Or maybe I should tell him alone, and then he can stress out in peace and make up his mind on whether he can tell you who he really is."

Or ask Voldemort whether he's _ allowed _ to tell Luna about his real identity, he added mentally. Maybe if she swore a Vow to keep their plot secret… 

They said goodbye at the eagle statue and Harry made his way back to Gryffindor Tower on his own. Without Snape potentially roaming the halls, things were a lot less stressful in the evenings, he mused. Maybe he could get Barty to get rid of Filch, too? He snorted. Barty wasn't his attack dog, of course, but he kinda _ got _ the appeal of having followers who did your bidding now.

Add another similarity between him and Voldemort to the list, he thought wryly. Maybe he should write the man a letter? Accept his invitation for Easter break all formally… who knew what else he'd learn during those two weeks.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys wouldn't believe how stoked I am to continue this :>


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the well wishes and for so many welcome back's! I felt that love :)
> 
> And to celebrate me starting my big girl job in a cardio surgery ICU tomorrow, here's the next installment of soft boys being soft boys and hard men being hard men but really also soft boys :D

They had DADA after breakfast the next day. To Harry's relief, Barty didn't look tired or wrung out, the way he might have after a grueling session of Auror-induced cross-examination. Maybe they really had just come for his advice…

Since he didn't have a reason to stay after class without looking suspicious, Harry followed Hermione out but threw a glance back to see Barty wink at him. He tried winking back, but he'd never quite mastered the skill with one eye so it must have been more of a deliberate blink from Barty's point of view.

The soft chuckling he could hear from inside the classroom did little to assuage his slight embarrassment. 

"What's he laughing about?" Hermione asked idly.

"I think I saw him take a look at the essays we had to hand in before I left," Harry lied easily.

"Oh," Hermione replied, brows drawn together, "I think I saw Crabbe handing his in last. You know…" She lowered her voice. "I wonder whether what Viktor told me is true. He said pretty much all Purebloods in Wizarding Great Britain are actually related as little as two generations back. Sometimes I wonder whether… no, that's rude. Don't mind me."

"Sometimes you wonder whether they're all inbred and that's why some of them are so shitty?"

Hermione looked scandalised and flushed hilariously fast. _ "Harry," _ she gasped. "I never said –! I mean, _ ugh. _ You're terrible."

"Don't worry," he shrugged. "It's not insensitive if it's true."

With Voldemort being a half-blood, and Dumbledore being a half-blood, and both of them said to be the strongest wizards of their generations, Harry had, in truth, started to wonder about the whole Pureblood Supremacy thing. His muggleborn mother had been an extraordinary witch, hadn't she? And Hermione, also muggleborn, could _ probably _ defeat their whole year in combat at the same time if she set her mind to it.

"It's all a load of bollocks anyway," he added. "That blood thing. Ridiculous. I hate it."

"It'll be a little different in France," Hermione sighed. "They call muggleborn 'nouveau sang', new blood, and it's actually cherished to come from obscurity. I'm sure it's not all sunshine and roses of course, but… not fighting against a system that is inherently against me from the start, well. It appeals to me."

Harry didn't like the way Hermione's shoulders trembled, so he pulled her into an empty side corridor and gave her a hug.

"You'll do so well in France," he promised her. "You and Viktor both. And I'll come visit you with international portkeys, okay? And once I've overhauled the government, maybe you want to come back."

"You're silly," Hermione sniffled and hugged him back. "You're a silly, silly boy, Harry, and I love you a whole lot."

Oh. Well that feeling was new. He knew she meant it platonically, and that was also the spirit in which he received it, but it still served to patch one of the little holes in his soul. How curious to think he hadn't even known those existed.

"I love you too, Hermione," he replied and they stayed there, hugging, until they had to run to make it to their next class.

-o-

That evening found Harry outside the DADA office once again.

"They're soon going to charge me for two people if you keep turning up every evening," Barty laughed when he opened the door for Harry.

Harry threw a meaningful glance toward the trunk that contained the real Alastor Moody and Barty snorted. "You mean _ three _ people? And don't pretend you don't like it when I turn up."

"Quite the contrary," Barty admitted easily. "I always have half a mind to be sad whenever you don't turn up – even though the essays I need to mark all take a backseat once you're here. I just wished the last task took place before the exams so I could get out of correcting them…"

"Whose idea was it anyways to schedule the last task so late that the whole term goes longer than usual? The task is on the 24th of June, right? Hermione said that up until the 23rd, they're writing exams, and then there's a whole week of nothing after the task."

"Mhm," Barty answered, lost in thought. "Wait, exam results were delivered by owl during the break, right? So if we leave at the end of the year… I don't actually have to mark anything!"

"But you said you loved teaching," Harry reminded him, confused.

"I do, I truly do," Barty answered with a put-upon sigh, "but everything that comes with it is a _ drag. _ I'll much prefer simply tutoring you in the coming years."

Harry forgot his consternation about the long school year and felt excitement bubble inside his stomach. "That's really happening, huh? I can't really believe I won't have to see the Dursleys ever again…"

"Want me to kill them for what they did to you?"

Harry snorted in exasperation. "Barty… you said you don't like killing people."

Nevertheless, there was a… strange sort of rush thrumming through Harry's veins at the idea of Barty being so ready to _ kill _ for him. Not that he'd ever say yes, but to have so much power… 

"I don't, but I'd still do it for you," Barty replied and took Harry's hand in his. "I'm not gonna rush you but the offer still stands. Change of topic: can you get the map out? I'll be changing back any minute now."

Harry nodded and pulled the map out of his satchel while they made their way to the bedroom. 

"There's no one close," Harry said after activating it and Barty hummed in relief as he took off the leg and the eye and started changing back. "You know, Barty, I feel like you're getting thinner each time I see you change back…"

"Polyjuice isn't meant to be taken this often," Barty explained, sounding embarrassed, and went over to his wardrobe.

He pulled out robes that looked Alastor's size but turned out to be the dove grey ones Harry had gotten him when Barty cancelled some kind of glamouring spell on them.

"The transformations are taking their toll, didn't you say that once?" Harry asked. "Is it… bad? I could order some potions or something via owl mail if that would help."

"Ugh, no," Barty replied as he started taking Moody's too-big clothes off. (Harry turned around half out of politeness and half because he started _ blushing.) _ "The last thing I need right now is _ more _ potions. I hate the smell, I hate the texture – I hate everything about medicinal potions."

A hand on his shoulder had Harry turn around, and he grinned when he saw Barty in properly fitting clothes once more.

"You look nice, even if you're being a big baby," Harry told him and went in for a hug. "I'll be looking after you like a hawk during the break, you know? I know all about balanced meals now thanks to Hermione."

"I'll be a good boy and eat my greens," Barty promised with a chuckle and let his hand run up Harry's back to bury it in the curls on the back of the boy's head.

"See that you do," Harry said lamely and closed his eyes.

It felt really nice, having his hair played with like that, so he let his own hand reach up and tangle gently in Barty's hair. Barty's head sagged forwards almost instantly and landed on Harry's shoulder when he began to scratch at the man's scalp. Harry thought he quite enjoyed having that profound an effect on someone.

"You're so adorable sometimes," Harry laughed and continued scratching further up. 

Barty merely hummed in response and clung tighter to him. With the man this distracted, Harry threw a glance over at the map lying next to him on a dresser while he kept petting and stroking Barty's hair. For once, it seemed like absolutely no one was about to disturb them, so Harry brought his other hand up to Barty's face and made the man look up.

Those pretty blue eyes looked right back into his, and Harry couldn't help but smile again. And then, instead of talking more, he pulled Barty towards him and kissed him. Barty's eyes fluttered shut like startled butterflies, and, wow, he really should just stop it with the metaphors.

Instead, Harry leaned back against the dresser with his hips and drew Barty in closer. There was a helpless sort of sound coming from the man, and then he stepped in, crowding Harry against the dresser.

Harry was about to say something, but Barty merely shook his head and continued kissing him, so Harry happily humoured him. They hadn't kissed all that often since that first time after the second task, but it still wasn't as sloppy as it had been back then.

Barty was gentle, like he always was with Harry, but there was a hunger there, too. From the way his lips pressed against Harry's to the careful yet firm grasp he had on Harry's waist, Barty was signalling so much _ want _ that Harry felt his head start to swim.

When a warm tongue pressed against his lips, coaxing, Harry opened his mouth reflexively and a moan tumbled out.

There was an answering, shuddering groan from Barty, and Harry let his fingers tighten in the man's blonde hair. He was glad about the dresser steadying him because somehow, his knees felt rather weak at the moment.

"Harry," Barty gasped when they parted for air, and rested his forehead against Harry's. "You – it's so good. You're so _ good _ for me."

Harry could merely nod in response and moved in for another kiss. He wanted more of that exciting, heady feeling taking root deep inside his tummy, and Barty obliged him happily enough.

They spent a good while snogging, and when they looked up into each other's eyes again, they were both flushed and glowing and giggly.

"Never believed I'd actually get to kiss anyone like this," Barty admitted as he stroked Harry's cheek. "For the longest time I, well, it's sad really, but for the longest time, I thought I'd have to die in Azkaban, and later down in that basement, and now I'm _ here, _ Harry, and I can't even believe my luck."

As always when Barty gave little glimpses into his horrible past, Harry felt a pang of pity. Yet this time, there was also a surge of possessiveness coursing through his veins. Barty was _ his _ now, they had a _ thing, _ and Harry Potter always looked out for the few people who cared about him.

"I'll never let you be incarcerated again," Harry promised in a voice that was decidedly rougher than he was used to from himself. "If anyone tries, I'll stop them. I'll help Voldemort win the stupid ministry over, and then I'm clearing your name, and then no one can ever attack you or lock you in again without committing treason."

Barty looked at him as if he'd grown a second head but Harry didn't care. He knew those plans were grand, he did, and he was still going to make all of them come true.

"Don't argue," he said when Barty opened his mouth. "I mean it. You stood by me when all of Hogwarts wore those stupid badges and made my life miserable, and you came clean about your involvement in everything of your own volition. You're my, my – I like you a _ lot, _ and I _ will _ make sure that nothing bad happens to you."

Barty was quiet. Harry half feared he was going to be laughed at, and that Barty would tell him that silly teenagers shouldn't make promises they couldn't _ possibly _ hope to keep, but instead… he got another kiss, and a warm look from those blue eyes.

"I'll hold you to that," Barty said softly. "And I promise, in turn, that you'll never have to live anywhere you don't want to live ever again. I'll protect you from… from everyone."

And just like Barty hadn't laughed at a silly teenager promising to overhaul British wizarding society for him, Harry didn't laugh at a wanted fugitive (thought dead) promising to keep the world at bay for him.

-o-

Since it was only two weeks until the start of Easter break, Harry and Barty didn't actually get to visit Voldemort in the interim like they'd planned. In a conversation with Barty, Harry had found out that while the Aurors hadn't outright _ voiced _ it, their questions had been relatively poignant in that clearly, he was at least a _ bit _ of a suspect in the disappearance of Igor Karkaroff and Severus Snape.

So they had to keep a low profile.

The subject of Luna potentially being allowed to know Barty's real identity had also, just as Harry predicted, stressed the man greatly. Barty wanted his little cousin to know, and _ badly, _ but Voldemort had already vetoed anyone but Harry knowing. And by vetoed, Barty meant Voldemort had explicitly forbidden it and Harry had learned that doing anything Voldemort had forbidden was not something Barty did. Ever.

Harry mulled about these things on his way to Potions class on Friday afternoon. Even in week two, it still felt surreal to climb the stairs to the fourth floor instead of going down into the dungeons. Potions class was now held in an airy corner classroom that had two walls lined with windows. The atmosphere was no longer one of doom and gloom, but rather one of a young-ish, spirited professor getting to teach something he loved.

The difference was so striking, in fact, that the first lesson had passed by in a blur for most of them. Professor Seloquent had started the lesson by explaining the potion, explaining the effect each ingredient had and, finally, explaining each step before having them get started.

Not very surprisingly, there had been no explosions the first week. Even Ron and Neville's potion had been a dark red that looked almost like the purple it was supposed to be if you held it against the light. (Neville had cried and stayed behind to share a bit of his tale of woe with potions with the new professor.)

Harry followed Hermione to their shared workspace and put his satchel down before walking over to the fourth year shelf to get his cauldron and their personal ingredients and tools.

The class listened to the professor's explanations, occasionally participated, and was eventually allowed to brew the potion while professor Seloquent walked the rows and helped and advised. It was… nice. Almost like cooking.

Harry fell into a bit of a trance as he cut and diced and crushed, but then he heard a familiar name and perked up. 

"–ssor Moody will return next year?" Lavender aked.

"I don't know," Parvati answered in a low voice. "Father says the appointment was only allowed because the headmaster strongly pushed for him to be appointed. I mean, not like they have a big bucket of candidates to choose from for DADA, but apparently professor Moody used to have a _ record _ when he was an Auror."

"The paranoia thing, yeah," Lavender agreed. "But he seems pretty sane to me to be honest. Like, I expected way worse?"

"Father's letter certainly made him sound a lot worse," Parvati giggled while she kept crushing delicate clover roots. "He's gnarly to look at but I'd still choose him as my teacher over someone like _ Lockhart." _

The girls both laughed about that for a bit and then Lavender hummed in thought. "You think he'll be the first DADA teacher to stay more than a year? I kinda like him to be honest."

"Uh-uh, he won't," Parvati answered with a shake of her head. "They all suffer a terrible fate, all of them. I wonder how the headmaster continues bribing people into accepting the position."

"Yeah, it's uncanny," Lavender sighed. "But he's already so broken and old… I hope his fate is more like professor Lupin's was, of having a dangerous secret slip out, you know? Maybe he has a thing for dolls in frilly dresses and everyone will find out or something…"

The girls giggled again, and Harry stopped listening to their gossiping. That supposed curse on the DADA position… did it apply to the original Alastor Moody who had already suffered a harsh fate by being incarcerated? Or did that curse not care for the name signed onto the contract but rather for the one standing in front of the class, teaching?

He'd have to ask Barty about that, and soon!

"Mr Potter, do be careful with those whitethorn weed roots," a deep melodic voice to his right recommended. "Diced, not _ annihilated." _

"Oh! Professor Seloquent!" Harry gasped and looked down at the battlefield on his cutting board. "I'm so sorry, I'll do it again – and better – immediately!"

"No worries, mr Potter," the man assured him. "I only meant to save you from inadvertently adding these to your potion. Your potion which, if I may say so myself, already looks well on its way to becoming another O. I'd hate to see such progress destroyed."

"Thank you, professor," Harry replied sheepishly as he vanished the destroyed roots and started cutting anew.

He watched as professor Seloquent moved over to help Neville adjust his grip on the knife handle and shared a glance with Hermione

"Strange, isn't it?" she asked. "What a difference one friendly face can make."

"You have no idea," Harry laughed and went back to working on his new whitethorn weed roots.

What a difference, indeed… this time, he paid attention to his cutting, but he was still a little lost in daydreams of being tutored by Barty for the next two years. Now he just had to get rid of that pesky curse before anything happened to Barty – after all, he'd promised to look out for him.

-o-

Unfortunately, Barty had no idea about the particularities of the curse, or whether it was truly anything more than a (very unlikely) statistical anomaly. They resolved to ask Voldemort about it during the break. After all, a master of curses ought to be good at breaking curses, too, lest the curser be undone by a mistake they made and couldn't fix.

It was now just one week until the break, and for the first time since he'd started attending Hogwarts, Harry didn't have to put his name down on the list of kids staying in Hogwarts. He watched a couple kids walk up to it in the evenings and hurriedly write their names down and wondered whether he, too, had always looked as shifty.

Idly, he wondered whether anyone would even notice that he was leaving. McGonagall maybe? She might tell Dumbledore. 

In the end, he didn't have to wait long. On Thursday, after Transfiguration, professor McGonagall asked him to stay behind after class.

"Mr Potter," she greeted him with a tired smile.

Harry didn't even know whether Dumbledore had told his deputy headmistress what had _ really _ happened when he'd been "down with wizard flu." His stomach made somersaults due to a sudden onset of _ nerves. _

"Professor McGonagall," he greeted back. "You wanted to speak to me?"

"Yes, indeed," she answered and pulled out the list from the common room. "I wanted to ask whether you forgot to put your name down."

"No, professor, I did not. I thought… with the tournament happening, I thought it'd be a good idea to just relax back home? Get away from the magical world for a bit, you know?"

She nodded slowly, realisation dawning. "I understand, mr Potter. You are under a lot of pressure, are you not? It's not fair, none of it, I just want you to know that. We're not allowed to help, but let me give you just one piece of advice – if you're afraid of the third task, just… don't try to be a hero. Everyone is already proud of you just for participating as well as you did. You don't have to prove anything to anyone."

Harry had to look away because he was still partly afraid of there being more legilimens than just Dumbledore and Snape in Hogwarts. Fortunately, professor McGonagall interpreted this as him being shy or afraid or something, because she sighed and put a hand on his shoulder.

"We're all rooting for you, mr Potter."

"Thank you, professor," he nodded and hurried out of the room.

If they were all rooting for him that much, why had nobody shown it during that initial state of naked _ panic _ he'd existed in between the goblet and the first task? Ridiculous!

-o-

On Saturday, after breakfast, he joined Luna on the way down to the carriages. Hermione was going to stay in the castle with Viktor, so it was just the two of them because Barty, being a teacher, was going to Apparate out on his own. Ostensibly, Moody was going to spend his break away from people in general and children in particular and that was so in character that not one person had questioned it.

When they arrived at the previously horseless carriages, Harry stopped and stood stock fucking still

"What are _ those?" _ he asked Luna quietly but intensely. 

There were great big beasts that didn't deserve the name 'horse' strapped in front of the carriages. They had leathery wings and dead, pale eyes and were so thin Harry was afraid they would snap if a stiff breeze hit.

"Oh, those are the thestrals," Luna shrugged. "Only those who've seen someone die can see them. Are you… wait, are you seeing them for the first time now?"

Harry felt as if someone had bound an iron band around his chest and was pulling it closed. He had ridden these carriages when they'd arrived the past September, and there definitely hadn't been skeletal black horses with dead eyes pulling them then.

_ Karkaroff… _

"Let's just… get inside the carriage," Harry choked out and made his way to one of the carriages further back.

Luna followed him and spelled the door shut behind her.

"I'm not going to prod, but I _ am _here if you want to talk," she offered. "Personally, I could see them the very first time I rode the carriages when I returned home for winter break during my first year. My mother died when I was nine. She was a spellcrafter, and one of her inventions went awry."

Barty's aunt, Harry's mind helpfully supplied. 

"I'm sorry for your loss," Harry forced out. "I think for me it's… the dementors from last year. I've done a lot of soul-searching this year, and… I faced my demons, so to speak. Whenever they drew near, I could hear my mum begging for my life, and I think I finally remembered that I saw her die, you know?"

Funny how easy it was becoming for him to lie through his teeth.

Luna nodded solemnly. "I understand. You don't need to say anything more."

She held his (cold, shaking) hand during the entire ride to the train station and then secured an empty compartment for them. Harry still felt numb. He _ knew _ he'd watched Karkaroff be killed by Voldemort, but the gravity of that event hadn't truly sunk in until right now.

He'd watched someone die. Voluntarily. He could have chosen not to be there, and he could have also chosen to maybe try and save that person. But the fact was that he hadn't… 

And the even scarier part was that, if presented with that same situation again, he wouldn't have chosen any differently. Karkaroff had been the reason Barty's meticulously-kept cover had been blown, and he'd been directly responsible for the terrible chain of events that had thus been set in motion for the poor man.

So really… wasn't it… somehow just? To get revenge like this? Clearly, there was no reckoning coming for traitors from the ministry or the Wizengamot or whoever doled out punishments. So maybe, taking revenge into one's own hands…

He mulled about these things for the rest of the train ride. They didn't talk much, but Luna herself seemed to be deep in thought so she probably didn't mind his boring company. The only distraction was the lady with the trolley, and Harry got some chocolate frogs and pumpkin pastries for both of them. They ate them silently.

-o-

When they arrived at King's Cross, it was already getting dark. Harry politely greeted Xenophilius, Luna's dad, and hugged Luna goodbye. They promised to meet an hour before the train was due to leave after the break, at exactly this spot, and then Harry rolled his trunk towards the muggle exit. 

He didn't have a meeting place with Barty because as it turned out, Barty had trouble navigating the muggle side of Great Britain. He'd been told just to leave the platform and then to make his way through King's Cross until there were no other wizards or witches around.

Harry supposed Barty would be trailing him and move in once the coast was clear. So he obediently left the platform and then leisurely made his way towards one of the bigger exits of King's Cross that he knew. 

Soon enough, two men fell in step with him on either side. They were both wearing muggle business suits and the one to his left grinned at him from a middle-aged face Harry had never seen before.

"Everything alright?" Barty asked and Harry nodded quickly, eyes wide.

"Yes, I'm just surprised both of you came here together."

Barty blushed faintly and looked to the ground as they were walking. "Master did not trust me with King's Cross on my own," he admitted with a self-deprecating little grin.

Harry cautiously looked to his right. When he did, Voldemort looked down at him with a raised eyebrow from another nondescript face. "I did indeed not," the tall man agreed. "He has not stepped foot in the muggle world in thirteen years – I was not going to risk him stepping into the street because he was expecting slow carriages instead of speeding cars."

There was a muffled sound of outrage from his left and Harry couldn't help but snort. Voldemort had made a _ joke. _ And a funny one, too! 

"I think those will be an interesting two weeks," Harry said, still a little baffled.

"Mh, quite," Voldemort agreed and led them out a lesser-frequented side exit

A short Apparition later, they found themselves on a gravel road leading up towards a house Harry could just make out between the trees. Since it was already dark, the light coming from its windows served as a beacon, and Harry found himself already looking forward to arriving.

"How was your trip, Harry?" Barty asked, sounding worried. "You looked a little peaky when you stepped off the platform."

"I wasn't prepared to suddenly be confronted with my new ability to see thestrals," he shared dryly. "That threw me off."

Instead of answering, Barty waved a hand over himself and the glamours evaporated. He finally looked like himself again, and he was wearing fine robes Harry hadn't seen him in before. Voldemort must have gotten Barty some new clothes then. Made sense that he'd be able to access his vaults again now that he had a proper body once more

"I'm sorry you were blindsided by that," Barty said earnestly, reached out and held his hand as they walked up the gravel path.

Harry clung to him tightly. And to think he'd be able to have this sort of comfort all the time so very soon..!

They drew closer to the house, and Harry was not surprised to see that it was easily double the size of the Dursleys' house.

"That's a big house," Harry commented as they drew closer. 

"Not by Pureblood standards," Voldemort informed him dryly. "This place has five bedrooms which is merely a small weekend retreat in the eyes of many of your classmates."

Harry frowned because he could very well see the likes of Draco Malfoy scoffing at a house even though it had its own gravel road leading up to it.

-o-

The inside of the house, small mansion, whatever, was… surprisingly normal. There were no skull candleholders, and no sounds of rattling chains or screams coming from some sort of secret torture dungeon.

Instead, there was a small fire dancing inside the fireplace and Barty went to stoke it when they entered the sitting room.

"I like this place," Harry realised and let his fingers trail over the back of a brown leather couch. "It's... cozier than I expected."

Voldemort looked at him with a wry expression. "Did you expect me to live in a dark, foreboding castle with perpetual rain clouds hanging overhead?"

Harry had the decency to blush. "Maybe not quite that dramatic, but… yeah. Kinda? I expected something a little more sinister."

"Sorry to disappoint but I was always, and remain, a hedonist," Voldemort replied with a strange expression and left the room.

"Did I spook him?" Harry asked when Barty came over and wrapped him in a hug.

"No, he's just getting himself a glass of wine to go along with dinner," Barty laughed. 

Dinner sounded lovely, and Harry's tummy growled in sympathy. 

"I already prepared everything before we came to get you," Barty told him and motioned to a dining table tucked into a corner.

There was an honest-to-god _ roast _ with potatoes and vegetables, complete with little saucepans and delicate glasses to drink from. Harry felt his mouth water at the sight of it and quickly followed Barty over there.

When Voldemort returned with a bottle of wine in one hand and a glass in the other, Harry was surprised to see he had shed a layer of the elaborate robes he'd been wearing when they arrived in favour of a simple pair of trousers and a long sleeved tunic.

He looked relaxed, and utterly at home. 

"You changed over the last weeks," Harry said slowly. "Didn't you?"

"Oh?" Voldemort replied fixing Harry with his uncanny red eyes. "Maybe I did. True sleep after thirteen years without will do that to you."

There even was the ghost of a smile on the man's face. Had he truly not slept for that long? Then again, he _ had _ been this ghost-like wraith thing, hadn't he? 

"I'm sorry you had it rough," Harry finally said after mulling over the idea of not being able to sleep. "All three of us had a rough time, really."

"I'm quite ready for the hard part of life to be over," Barty agreed with a sad smile and filled both Harry's and his own glass with what looked like pumpkin juice.

Voldemort eyed both of them for a beat or two before raising his glass, now filled with a wine so dark red it looked almost purple. Harry was reminded of Ron and Neville's potion from a couple weeks ago and had to grin.

"To unlikely alliances," Voldemort said with a nod to Harry, "and new beginnings."

Here, he looked at Barty who raised his glass as well. "To a bright future."

Harry lifted his glass as well and drank when the other two did. He didn't feel like making a toast – he only felt like eating, and then maybe collapsing into bed. Speaking of beds…

"Do I Iet my own room?" he asked Voldemort after they'd already started eating.

To his surprise, the man looked like a piece of roast had suddenly gone down the wrong pipe. There was no coughing though, only a long-suffering look. So maybe Harry was only going to get the magical equivalent of a cot after all? So a magical cot, like at the Weasley's – the magical part of it being the fact that it was more uncomfortable than should be humanly possible.

"I am _ not _letting you share a room with Barty," Voldemort said instead after he'd dabbed at the corners of his mouth with his napkin. "At least… not yet."

Barty cleared his throat, clearly embarrassed, but Harry frowned in confusion.

"No, I didn't mean it like that," he explained. "At the Dursleys', my mom's muggle relatives, I lived in the cupboard under the stairs for the longest time, and whenever I was at the Weasley's, I only got a cot in Ron's room. So I thought I'd ask before I start getting my hopes up."

"Cupboard under the stairs?" Barty asked incredulously. "You mentioned that before, back when... I meant to ask: didn't they have enough rooms?"

"Uh, my cousin had two bedrooms," Harry shrugged. "But like I said, they didn't like me much because I made strange things happen."

Barty knew about that of course, but he doubted that Voldemort did.

"Afraid of your power, were they?" Voldemort asked with a strange tone of voice. Almost… nostalgic? "Trying to keep you small because they _ knew _ you were different, and being different was frowned upon?"

Harry nodded, surprised. "Yeah. That's… really accurate, actually. They called me freak most of the time."

"Did they now…" Voldemort broke their eye contact and looked down into his wine glass. "What a singularly cruel fate for the saviour of Wizarding Britain."

"But you won't have to return there ever again, just like I promised," Barty reminded Harry and reached across the table to hold his hand. "Only a bit more than two months after we return, and then you and I can live here full-time!"

"So I do get my own room?"

"You do, indeed, each get your very own room," Voldemort said, amused, after being shaken from his earlier reverie by Harry's question. "I will show you your room after dinner, Harry."

His very own room in a magical home, Harry realised. So what if the house belonged to the Dark Lord? He wasn't being very Dark Lord-y at the moment, and Harry could see on Barty's exposed left forearm that the Dark Mark was still as pale as when he'd first seen it.

"I'd like that a lot," he replied and attacked the rest of his dinner with a vengeance.

-o-

After dinner, Harry and Barty were both yawning unabashedly, so Voldemort directed them up the stairs near the front entrance. The first floor consisted of a broad, straight corridor illuminated by wall torches and a large window covering most of the wall next to the stairwell. Not that the waning moon provided much light, though.

There were five doors leading off the opulent but not tacky corridor, two on each side and one at the back wall. 

"My room is the one at the end," Voldemort informed him. "Yours is the one to the right here."

Harry went to the first door on the right hand side and peeked inside. The rather spacious room held a four poster bed, a wardrobe, a dresser, a desk and (empty) book shelves. There was also another, smaller door to the left.

"Don't tell me I have my own bathroom," Harry gasped. 

"Why?" Voldemort asked, clearly confused. "Would that be a problem?"

"I've never had my own bathroom before!" Harry babbled excitedly and bounced into the room. He threw open the door and _ stared _ at the simple white tiles in awe and wonder. Showers. Long, hot, showers, and nobody peeking in, or telling him to get on with it! He could _ leave his things out at the sink! _ His toothbrush, and his hair brush, and –! "This... is literally the best thing ever."

"Glad to hear you will enjoy a bit of solitude," Voldemort said earnestly and turned to leave. "Good night, you two. Go to sleep soon."

"Of course, master. And thank you," Barty called after him and Harry echoed the last sentiment quickly before Barty came over to him. "It'll do both you and me a world of good, living here."

"I'm so glad you'll get to sleep without the worry of being found out for once, Barty," Harry sighed and went in for a hug. "No dementors, no mind control, no castle filled with your enemies… I can't even… I can't even begin to understand all that pressure all those years."

Barty hugged him back fiercely. "In the end, it was all worth it, Harry," he said with conviction. "I can't say it'd be easy, doing it all over again, but… I'm glad that path enabled me to end up where I am today. I wouldn't have it any different."

"That's sweet and all," Harry said, "but I still wish you'd had it easier. Fuck that prophecy."

"Hah, indeed," Barty nodded with a wry smile. "We'll render it void, just you see. And now, my dear Harry, you ought to sleep. If you're up first and hungry, you can go into the kitchen for a snack, alright? Or you can come wake me up, I don't mind."

"Thanks, Barty. Really. I'm… happy I'm here with you."

Barty returned Harry's smile with a sappy one of his own and leaned forward to give him a tender kiss on the lips.

"Night, Harry."

Harry looked after Barty even after he'd closed the door behind him and tried to calm his racing heart. Tender kisses like this really were his weakness…

Instead of going straight to bed, Harry went over to the window and looked out into the softly moonlit grounds for a while and let his thoughts drift. It was nice that all was quiet and calm like this. Were the thestrals already back wherever it was they lived?

Maybe the Forbidden Forest? What if he'd walked past them before, not even aware of the proximity of death's harbingers? But what did it matter? Not like anything had happened...

He ought to concentrate more on how silent everything here was. Serene. There was nothing but trees and grass, and a…

Oh no. 

A figure, slowly staggering away from the house..? But why...?

Harry bolted from his new room.

**"Barty! Voldemort!"** he screamed.

Both doors opened almost simultaneously, and two pairs of eyes stared at him in alarm. Barty was already in pyjamas and rubbed his tired eyes, but Voldemort was still dressed and held a quill limply between his fingers. It dripped ink onto the fancy carpet.

"There's a, there's, someone's walking along the grounds, towards the street –" Harry stuttered out, pointing towards his window. 

Barty frowned in confusion, but Voldemort cursed, dropped the book, and ran down the corridor faster than Harry had ever seen anyone run. Harry stepped hurriedly aside as Voldemort rushed past his room, threw open the window and simply… jumped down in a plume of smoke?

Harry stared after him with an open mouth and then turned on his heels to race down the stairs to the front door.  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoever could the mystery person be? _gasp_
> 
> Stay tuned and find out hopefully next week!
> 
> I want to proclaim the return to regular Monday evening (GMT+2) updates, but we'll see how that works out :D


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise :>
> 
> Heard from my friend kit (local_doom_void on here) that y'all Americans are having a holiday tomorrow so I thought, hey, why not give em an early treat?

When Harry reached the front doors, a pair of arms wrapped around his chest before he could rush outside.

"Harry, stop!" Barty heatedly whispered right next to his ear. "You can't just run out there."

"But maybe he needs help!" Harry argued and tried to twist free.

"He's _ the _ Dark Lord, Harry," Barty grunted while trying to keep him contained. "If he needs help from either of us, we are already fucked."

"We need to at least check," Harry demanded and Barty finally let him go.

If he was being honest with himself, he wasn't entirely sure why he was so worried. Voldemort was able to look out for himself, of course he was, but Harry still _ needed _ to make sure everything was alright. Voldemort had only just gotten his body back! And he'd been nothing but nice to Harry even before then…

"Look, I'll go first, okay?" Barty said and drew his wand from a holster strapped to his left arm. "You stay behind me, alright? I'm pretty sure I know already who it is you saw."

"Alright," Harry nodded and held his breath as Barty cautiously opened the door.

They didn't even bother putting shoes on before creeping out and to the left where Harry's window faced. The grass was dry but cold under his sock-clad feet and Harry finally had time to wonder who the figure could be. Had it been Snape then? Was he still alive?

A hand on his chest made him stop. They had reached the corner and Barty slowly peeked around it. Not wanting to be left out, Harry bent down and looked around the corner too. 

Voldemort was already rushing across the grass in the distance. It looked like he was floating rather than running, and he had almost made it to the figure that was still slowly but steadily getting further and further away.

It was hard to see from this far away, but it looked like Voldemort drew his wand from his sleeve. When a large explosion of light signalled a powerful spell being cast, Harry was sure that yes, that'd definitely been a wand. The staggering figure seemed to come to life with that burst of magic though and started trying to evade the spells. It worked that first time, and then a second time, but the third spell struck the figure and catapulted them a couple feet away where they stayed lying on the ground.

Voldemort cast another spell and the figure started floating behind him as he made his way back to the small manor.

Harry and Barty stepped out from around the corner when the coast was clear and waited for Voldemort to arrive. As he drew closer, Harry realised it wasn't Snape after all, but rather –

_ "Him," _ Barty snarled in a dark voice Harry had never heard from him before. "I thought it was… fuck!"

Harry looked closer, and yeah, that was definitely Crouch Snr, Barty's dad. Barty _ had _ mentioned how his father was the one under the Imperious now, hadn't he?

"Settle down, Barty," Voldemort commanded in a stern voice that brooked no argument.

Barty didn't stop shaking, though he lowered the wand he'd raised upon realising who it was.

"Did he… run away somehow?" Harry asked, not liking the sudden tension.

Voldemort nodded distractedly and led them back to the front doors. "We visited him downstairs earlier today. Seeing Barty again might have overridden more of the Imperious than I had originally anticipated."

"Why don't you let me _ kill him already," _ Barty asked heatedly and raised his wand again. 

"We may still have need of him," Voldemort replied evenly, unperturbed by Barty's harsh words and harsher tone. 

Harry took a step back because he realised that this was not his conversation to take part in. Barty looked really shaken up, and Harry wondered whether he, too, would be looking at uncle Vernon the same way if he hadn't been allowed out the cupboard at all until his Hogwarts letter arrived.

"And what if he escapes again and tells everyone that you're back?" Barty growled, cancelled the glamour on his magical silver arm and used it to point at Voldemort. "I didn't give my arm just to see you waste your second chance of doing things over!"

Harry covered his mouth with his hands. He was known to be defiant and contrary in the face of authority from time to time, but even he wouldn't dare speak to Voldemort like this. And to have _ Barty _ talk to his own master like this..! He had to be really out of it to dare stand up to Voldemort this way.

Voldemort's eyes narrowed dangerously and Barty flinched and backed down immediately, fire lost.

"I am going to excuse this, Barty," Voldemort said quietly, almost lisping with the intensity of it. "I am going to excuse this because he deserves your scorn, because you are beyond tired in body and mind, and because you have heretofore served me well. I am not going to excuse behaviour like this a second time. Do you understand?"

Barty started shaking again but nodded obediently. "I'm so sorry, I – I shouldn't have… oh master, I'm so sorry, I don't even…"

Words seemed to elude him, so Harry cautiously stepped up to his side and wrapped an arm around Barty's back to steady him.

"Come on, you can apologise more in the morning. He knows how sorry you are, and that you didn't mean it." He tugged a little, and Barty started moving. "I'll bring you to bed. I'll even tuck you in, how's that sound?"

Barty nodded slowly, head hanging, and let himself be led towards the stairs by Harry. When they'd almost cleared the first flight, Harry looked back to see Voldemort still standing there, looking after them. He shot the man a grim smile, and Voldemort nodded back with an aloof sort of expression before leaving for somewhere else inside the house with the unconscious Crouch Snr.

Downstairs he'd said, right? Maybe there was a hidden torture dungeon after all...

-o-

When Harry woke up the next morning, he felt rested despite the disagreeable late-night excursion. He withstood the urge to cast a Tempus charm and went to his trunk instead. He hadn't unpacked it the evening before, so he had to sift through his things until he'd found an old alarm clock with fire engines on it that he'd scavenged out of Dudley's broken hoard.

It was only 6:30 am. Well, old habits died hard, as they said.

He went to the bathroom, yawning and stretching, and resolved to take the hottest, longest shower of his young life.

Half an hour later, he pattered down the stairs in the pretty wizarding casual wear he'd bought way back when in Hogsmeade. And had that really been last year? How fast time passed… he'd still thought he was friends with the _ real _ Alastor Moody back then.

Down on the ground floor, he made his way to the kitchen and stopped in the door when he was confronted with Voldemort sitting at the kitchen table, reading the Daily Prophet and nursing a cup of coffee. How exactly was it that you dealt with your ex-nemesis being domestic in front of you?

"Good morning," Harry improvised. "Am I allowed to help myself?"

Voldemort hesitated briefly but then made an inviting hand gesture encompassing the ice box and the stove.

"Have you eaten yet?" Harry asked as he opened the ice box to see what he was working with.

It was surprisingly full. Harry hadn't expected the Dark Lord to have a full fridge for some reason, and, to be certainly honest, he didn't have _ any _ concept of what a Dark Lord was like in his downtime. Well… he was about to find out, in any case, and wasn't that a weird concept? 

"Found something amusing?" Voldemort asked.

"Quite the opposite," Harry admitted. "No vials of blood or severed thumbs – I'm utterly disappointed. Anyway, want me to make you breakfast too?"

There was no answer while Harry rummaged around the ice box, so he turned around after putting all his ingredients on the counter.

"That a yes?"

"You know how to cook?"

"My relatives had me do most of the cooking when I was home," Harry shrugged. "I'm no Michelin chef, but it's mostly passable."

"Interesting," Voldemort commented and folded the newspaper together. "I certainly would not be averse."

Harry nodded, strangely excited to get to cook again, and on his own terms no less!

While Harry mixed ingredients together to make pancakes, Voldemort stared wordlessly out the window. Was he still tired? Had he even slept at all?

"Barty was really sorry," Harry said slowly. "I had to stay with him for a bit until he had calmed down enough to sleep."

"Mh," Voldemort hummed, seemingly deep in thought. "I am well aware his blood father is his Achilles' tendon, Harry. I will not punish him for his transgression."

"Good," Harry nodded, "good. It would have been incredibly unreasonable if you had, and I'd like to imagine that you changed."

"I never quite know whether to be amused or put out by your bratty behaviour." Voldemort turned in his chair and faced Harry who was leaning against the countertop with his hip. "I know you have questions. Let us get this over with lest you boil over like an unattended potion."

Harry smirked a little and considered that offer while he flipped the first batch of pancakes. 

"I do have many questions," he nodded, "but I don't think I can ask them all in one sitting. The most pressing matters though… you're good with curses, right?"

Voldemort raised an elegant eyebrow and took a sip of coffee. "An understatement, but yes. I am good with curses."

"Are you also good with countercurses?"

"Oh? And why would that be needed, specifically?"

"Barty and the curse on the DADA post," Harry explained quickly. "I overheard some of my classmates talking about how they're going to miss Moody once the curse takes a hold of him a couple weeks ago, and ever since then, I've been worried about Barty. What if the curse doesn't stop at the real Alastor Moody who signed the contract but instead includes Barty because he actually _ taught _ the subject?"

Voldemort looked… dismayed. "In truth, I had not considered this. How bothersome. No, we cannot have that, not at all… Worry not about the curse anymore, I will be taking care of it. Thank you for bringing this to my attention."

"Good, that's a relief. Considering what all happened to the last three candidates, well," Harry swallowed. "I can't have this for Barty. I promised to keep him safe."

"Did you now?" Voldemort hummed again.

Harry nodded, put the first batch of pancakes on a plate and brought it over to the table. "I did, and I will keep that promise. Anyway, second pressing question, before I forget again. Will you give me a Dark Mark if I ask for it?"

Voldemort, who'd already pulled the plate towards him, stopped with the fork halfway to his mouth and observed Harry with a shrewd expression.

"You are not having me on."

It was a statement and not a question, so Harry shrugged a little uneasy. "I'm not having you on, no," he replied though he felt a little silly as he returned to the stove.

"Mh," Voldemort replied, non-committal. "The pancakes are good. But… you need to afford me some time to ponder your request."

"I can do that," Harry agreed, suddenly anxious.

What if Voldemort said no? Would it matter in the long run? What would change if he _ was _ marked, especially with the Mark being inactive now? Could he even _ be _ marked at the moment? 

Why did he even want to be marked anyways? Because Barty was marked, and he wanted to be close to him? Or was it because…

He remembered sitting at Voldemort's feet in the decrepit old Riddle Manor, Barty next to him, and feeling strangely at peace. Voldemort had looked sickly back then in that weird golem body, but he'd still exuded an amazing sense of power, and of _ wisdom. _

Harry blushed and flipped the second batch of pancakes over. Maybe he could understand a little better now why so many people had chosen to follow Voldemort back then – charisma, power, knowledge… 

And not having to _ lead _ was refreshing. Even with Hermione and Ron, it had always been Harry calling the shots in the end, but here… here, he could relax and let someone else take the reins for once. 

After the third batch was done, Harry brought two more plates to the kitchen table. 

"Can you put a stasis charm on Barty's plate for when he wakes up?"

Voldemort acquiesced easily and waited for Harry to finish his food before getting up.

"Follow me."

"Where are we going?"

But Voldemort was already halfway to the door, so Harry rolled his eyes and followed the man into the foyer and then through an unassuming door on the left. He found himself walking down stairs made of stone and realised quickly that they were going down into the… cellar? The _ dungeons? _

"Is this where you brought Crouch? Is that where we're going?"

"Yes, and not quite."

The stairs segued into a short brick hallway illuminated by magical torches and led to a T-junction. They went right, into another unadorned hallway with doors leading off it to either side.

Voldemort stopped before one of the doors and turned to face Harry. His expression was indecipherable, but Harry imagined he could see a kind of dry amusement in those uncanny red eyes and the tilt of the man's lips.

"You want to take my mark?"

Harry nodded, uncertain of what was going to happen now. Was this some sort of test? 

"Regardless of your reasons – and I assume your closeness to Barty is your main motivator – I am going to show you why you are not ready."

Before Harry could ask how Voldemort could be so sure, the man had opened the door next to them with a careless flick of his hand. His natural curiosity be damned, but Harry immediately turned to take a look inside the room beyond and felt his heartbeat quicken.

"Professor Snape," he whispered faintly, feeling strangely numb.

It was indeed his (former?) Potions professor. He was sitting on the rough ground with his back to the wall, arms hanging limply from shackles attached to a hook that was driven deep into the stone behind him. Snape was sagged forwards, greasy hair hanging into his face.

The man stirred faintly when the door opened but that was all the reaction they got.

Voldemort took a step into the otherwise empty, windowless room illuminated by a single torch and beckoned Harry inside.

"I want you to kill him, Harry."

That drew a gasp from both Harry and Snape. 

"Harry?" Snape asked, and his head shot up. "Potter! No! No! Release him, the boy has done nothing, he's been an _ instrument _ used by Dumbledore and nothing more than that! Potter, you need to remember who you _ really _ are, don't let him control you!"

Harry frowned in confusion, shock at Voldemort's request momentarily forgotten. Snape's eyes were comically wide, and it looked weird with how coal-black they were. The light from the torch reflecting in them didn't make them any prettier – it only made him look more shiny and greasy.

"He doesn't control me," Harry shrugged. "I'm on his side of my own accord."

"Of your own – Potter, what are you saying!" Snape turned to Voldemort and his expression darkened. "What did you do with him?"

Voldemort smiled now, a thin, dangerous curl of his lips that made Harry suddenly really glad he wasn't on the receiving side. "What I did? Well, I am housing him for the break, for one – something few magical people have done. I have also provided him with his own room, and given him a friend. Though the last one, I fear, has not been entirely my own choice."

"A friend? What friend?" Snape looked worried now, and Harry could imagine him going through all the possibilities. He could pinpoint the moment it clicked in Snape's mind, and that searching, feverish gaze landed on Harry again. 

"Alastor Moody, Auror extraordinaire," Voldemort agreed with a _ smirk. _ "Did you and the old fool actually believe the real Alastor Moody would commit such blatant acts of impropriety and favouritism?"

"Then who…"

"You might have heard about a young man called Barty, Severus." Voldemort took a step closer. "I heard you went to school together for a time."

"Barty? _ That _ Barty? But he died… he was buried in Azkaban!"

"And yet, he was the one to resurrect me. Funny how that goes, is it not?"

Snape simply stared at Voldemort with his mouth slack and a wild look in his eyes. 

"Potter," he ground out and turned back to Harry, "Harry… whatever he has promised you, or whatever Barty has promised you in his stead – none of it is true. It's all lies, the Dark Lord deals only in lies and treachery, and you _ will _regret this one day."

"What," Harry asked, beginning to get irritated, "like _ you _regretted being responsible for my mother's death?"

Snape paled considerably, and Harry quickly felt his irritation turn into anger.

"You loved her, and then you signed her death sentence! Did you think she was gonna like you more if you were high up in Voldemort's new world order? You're a traitor, and a, and a bad friend – and an even worse teacher! We have a new Potions teacher now, and _ everybody _ likes him. _ Neville _ got an EE last lesson!"

Snape simply stared back incredulously. These things probably meant very little to him right now, but to Harry, they all belonged together because they completed the picture of "insufferable bastard". 

"Now that you are properly angry, Harry," Voldemort's suave voice cut in, "I repeat my earlier order. Kill him."

So it hadn't been a joke to make Snape a little afraid? Harry turned to Voldemort, gaze searching, but all he got was determination from the Dark Lord. Not a joke then – rather, the test Harry had been suspecting earlier.

"I can't do magic outside of Hogwarts without offsetting the Trace," Harry argued lamely. 

"Mh," Voldemort hummed, got out his wand, and cast a long spell with complicated wand movements. "It is rendered moot within these walls. Kill him."

Was that true? What if it was a trap to get him… well, no, that was ridiculous. If Voldemort wanted Harry seized by the ministry, there were easier ways to do it. Hesitantly, Harry got his wand out from its holster and looked down at the smooth, dark wood. A brother wand to Voldemort's. What did that even mean..?

Snape was staring at him with an unmistakable expression of shock. "Potter, you can't surely be considering –!"

"Crucio," Voldemort said, sounding almost bored.

Snape started thrashing and screaming in his bonds and Harry felt bile start to rise in his throat. It was just like Karkaroff, he reminded himself. They both deserved it for being filth, they did, he just had to grit his teeth and bear it for a moment longer, just a moment, one more –

Snape sagged again and hung limply in his shackles.

"Do you think he deserves this, Harry? For being the reason you and I have become enemies?"

Harry was startled by that question, but he had to nod. Ever since Barty had told him about Snape's (unwitting, but still) involvement, general antipathy had turned into pointed hatred, and now that he realised this, he could feel the anger slowly simmering inside him. "He deserves it," he answered. "But I'm not… I can't kill him. I'm not ready for that."

To Harry's surprise, Voldemort got a satisfied little smile on his face and drew closer to him. He didn't stop until he'd stepped up behind Harry and while their chest and back weren't touching, Voldemort took Harry's wand hand in his and pointed the wand at Snape.

"Crucio," he purred, and Harry thought his heart skipped a beat when it felt like... _ he himself was casting. _

This time, no twitch and no scream from Snape surprised him. He could see him cramp up before it happened, and every minute movement of his wrist felt like he was a conductor for a symphony of pain. Aaand here he was again with his shitty metaphors.

Voldemort cancelled the spell, and Harry shakily exhaled. He felt weak, and his knees even more so, so he allowed himself to lean back against the tall man behind him.

"Having so much power is a sensation most heady, is it not?" Voldemort asked, his melodic voice ringing pleasantly in Harry's ears. 

With Voldemort's hand also still covering his, everything was a little too much for Harry and he didn't quite know what to say. Instead, he looked at the still-shaking figure of Snape and wondered whether he was a bad person now for being complicit in this.

"Harry," Snape almost-whimpered and looked up at him laboriously. When he saw Harry so close to Voldemort, he looked… a hurt kind of surprised. "What… what would your mother think…"

"Thanks to you, I'll never get to find out," Harry shot back.

"The Dark Lord was the one who killed her!" Snape cried out, voice hoarse from screaming.

"And I was the one who defied him in turn – three times now," Harry snarled, "just like my parents. And I won't ever do it again!"

"You can't be serious…" Snape ground out. "Everything the headmaster did for you and you just –"

Voldemort's free hand made a gesture towards Snape, and the man grew mute. He noticed soon enough and merely glared at Voldemort. Harry looked closer and noticed that Snape was… missing his mouth? That looked grotesque, so Harry looked away from Snape because of that and also because he was tired of confrontation.

"I want to go now," Harry said quietly. "I understand what you wanted to show me."

"Mhh," Voldemort hummed in agreement. 

Harry could feel the vibration against the back of his head where it rested against the man's sternum. How tall he was! And to think Harry had thought Barty, who looked so short compared to Voldemort, was tall…

(Distantly, a very vulnerable part of Harry realised he'd never been physically close enough to any adult except maybe uncle Vernon to get a feel for how tall people could get. And even with his uncle, it had only been intimidation that had the man get close to Harry. Closeness like this had been unheard of before this year except for that emotional yet short hug with Sirius at the end of his third year.)

"Come," Voldemort said and led Harry out of the room. 

When the door closed behind them and Harry still hadn't felt a lick of pity for Snape, he heaved a sigh. 

"You said you understand why I will not give you a Dark Mark?" Voldemort asked, his left hand on Harry's shoulder now.

"I can't follow all orders without hesitation," Harry answered, "and to be quite honest… I don't know whether I'll ever be ready to kill _ anyone _ just because someone tells me to do so. Even if it's you."

"Even if it is me? What a change of heart, Harry," Voldemort chuckled darkly. "But enough about that. There is another matter I must ask about. You said you defied me three times, yet I only seem to recall two. First on that fateful night in '81, and then in your first year at Hogwarts, misguided little Light soldier that you were."

"My second year too," Harry shrugged, "but you wouldn't remember it because it was technically speaking a younger version of you? I fought you in the Chamber of Secrets when you were still Tom Marvolo Riddle and killed the basilisk together with Fawkes."

Voldemort was eerily quiet, so Harry looked up searchingly. To his shock, the man had gone pale, paler even than he usually was, and he didn't even look at Harry.

"You killed the basilisk," he whispered, voice hollow. "And you fought… how? What? You must tell me everything, Harry."

The hand on his shoulder tensed, but not quite enough to hurt.

"There was this diary," Harry started, but then a portion of the wall exploded a little further down the corridor and Harry gasped. "What happened? Is – is someone attacking us?"

"No," Voldemort ground out and let go of Harry's shoulder. "I am incredibly angry right now. No, at neither you nor Barty."

Harry, whose mouth had opened reflexively to protest his innocence, closed it again. "Then who?"

"Probably a Malfoy."

"Oh yeah, Lucius Malfoy gave the diary to Ginny Weasley at the beginning of my second year because the ministry was doing raids to find Dark artefacts."

Voldemort's expression darkened considerably, and once again Harry was glad this sentiment wasn't directed at him. His voice was dangerously calm when he spoke next. "Give me a very brief run-down of events, Harry."

"Uh, okay, I'll try." Harry nodded. "Ginny wrote in the diary because it was her first year and she felt alone, but no one knew it was getting into her head. People, a ghost and a cat started turning up petrified over the course of the year because as it turned out, no one looked _ directly _at the basilisk. Everyone thought it was me who opened the Chamber because it came out during that year that I was a parselmouth and it was just a really shitty year all around."

"Yes, I knew about the parselmouth thing," Voldemort said flatly, "but that, and you being ostracised in your second year for some reason, was about all the information I had on the matter."

"Yeah, and I totally went from saviour to enemy number one," Harry sighed. "A muggleborn Hufflepuff year mate of mine even ran away whenever I came near him during that year… anyway. We brewed Polyjuice to get into the Slytherin common room cause we thought it was Draco Malfoy who opened the chamber except it wasn't, and in the end Hermione found out it was a basilisk but she was petrified before she could tell anyone. Ron and I found the chamber, went down there, and a tunnel collapsed due to, uh, Gilderoy Lockhart but he isn't really important. So I went into the Chamber alone and you were there, or rather Tom was there, and he was corporeal because Ginny was almost dead and then I fought the basilisk cause he sicced it on me and Fawkes came and helped, and then I was bitten by the basilisk but Fawkes cried on me and then I used the basilisk fang to destroy the diary because you still wanted to kill me."

Harry felt all sorts of emotional after relating the rough story of his second year at Hogwarts, but it was nothing against Voldemort's utter pale stillness.

"I'm sorry if the diary was important to you, but your younger alter ego was trying to kill me and my then-best friend's little sister."

Voldemort was still eerily silent, and Harry was beginning to think something was going to happen. He didn't know what exactly Voldemort was about to do, but he had a feeling that heads were about to roll. Maybe Malfoy's? Lucius Malfoy's, that is.

"I am going to require the day for myself, Harry," Voldemort finally said, voice seemingly far-away. "Reassure Barty that it is not due to his outburst yesterday, will you? I am not mad at him."

"Uh, yeah, sure. Will you be at dinner?"

"I need to think about some things, and maybe kill a couple people," Voldemort growled. "Leave me now."

Harry nodded quickly and hurried back upstairs. He was very glad he wasn't Lucius Malfoy right now.

-o-

In the end, it was already a little after 10 am when Barty finally stumbled down the stairs. He looked tired and worn out when he entered the sitting room, but he still managed to put on a smile for Harry.

"Morning," Barty greeted and Harry got up from the couch to give him a hug.

"There's pancakes for you in the kitchen," Harry mumbled into Barty's chest but refused to let go of him.

"Will you let me eat them, too?" Barty chuckled.

"Alright," Harry sighed and held Barty's hand as they walked into the kitchen. "I'm supposed to tell you that Voldemort has left to think some things over, and to maybe kill some people. It's nothing to do with you though, he's not mad at either of us."

Barty, who'd gone pale during the first part, nodded slowly. "Alright… any particular reason why he left?"

"Well…" Harry shrugged, crossing his arms. "He took me to meet Snape in the dungeons when I asked for the Dark Mark and told me to kill him, but I couldn't. That was his way of showing me that I wasn't ready."

"Oh," Barty replied and pulled the pancakes over to him. "I see."

"Would you have killed him?"

"If my master had told me to do it? Yes, I suppose so."

That didn't really surprise Harry, if he was being honest with himself. "We then got to talking, and I told him about my second year. Apparently, he didn't know the Chamber of Secrets was opened in my second year?"

"I didn't explicitly mention that, no," Barty replied and started on the pancakes. "Oh no, those are really good! Did you make them?"

Harry felt a burst of fondness in his chest and he blushed a little. "I did, yeah."

Barty smiled warmly at him and ate some more before frowning. "So what made him leave then?"

Harry gave Barty an account of his conversation with Voldemort while the man happily munched on his pancakes.

"Wonder what's up with that diary," Barty mused when he was done eating. "Do you think it was something sentimental?"

"I don't know," Harry frowned. "Does he _ do _ sentimental?"

"I'd like to think he does," Barty grinned. "We'll find out soon enough, I guess. And he really held your hand and cast Crucio with your wand?"

Harry blushed again and looked out the window. "I didn't mean to make you jealous. It wasn't like we were properly holding hands or anything."

"Ah, no, that's not what I was getting at at all," Barty rushed to reassure him. "I'm pretty sure _ that _ is one of those things he doesn't do, hah. No, what I meant is… you feeling the magic as he was casting, that's not very common? I never heard of such a thing, and then there was you bonding with each other's wands back at the graveyard…"

"You still think it's more than coincidence," Harry mused.

Barty nodded and then yawned. "I do. But all of that pales in comparison to a night of sound sleep… Once I'd convinced myself that he would have reacted way differently if he was really mad at me, I was able to fall asleep. And not having to worry about someone barging in and trying to kill you because your cover was blown? I think I'll be spending most of the break sleeping."

"And eating too, I hope," Harry teased him and got Barty a joghurt from the fridge. 

Barty obediently continued eating. "I'll try to gain some weight, promise."

-o-

They spent the whole Sunday just lazing about. Harry got to working on his reading and essay assignments, and Barty curled up on the couch in front of the fire and slept some more. Harry briefly woke him up to eat the lunch he'd prepared, and then Barty went back to nap some more.

Distantly, from his spot on the dining table which was now littered with school books and parchment, Harry wondered how Barty had even stayed upright during the year if this was how tired he truly was. _ Devotion, _ a small voice in his mind insisted. _ First, he was only devoted to Voldemort and that's what kept him going. And now, he's got you, too, and he promised to keep you safe and to give you a home. _

Harry's chest did a peculiar sort of squeezing sensation, and it got stronger when he looked over at a peacefully slumbering Barty. 

"... I love him," Harry whispered, realisation making his fingers tremble.

He quickly put the quill on his quill holder to save his parchment from giant splotches and went over to the couch because that's where his heart was telling him he needed to be. There was some space in front of Barty's tummy, so that's where Harry sat down. He stroked Barty's cheek and leaned down to kiss his forehead.

As expected, Barty woke up and laboriously opened his eyelids to peek up at Harry. "Hi," he yawned. "I'd like to be woken up like this every day from now on. Please and thank you."

"I'll give my best," Harry replied with a sappy smile and gave him another kiss. 

Barty was about to say something else but then the door to the sitting room opened and Voldemort strode in like he owned the place. Which, well, he did. He was wearing a dark travel cloak with fastenings made of what looked like gold and surveyed the scene before him with a calculating gaze.

He was holding something in his hands, too, and Harry quickly identified it as the snake-topped cane Lucius Malfoy owned. Did that mean Voldemort had killed him..?

Barty started struggling free from under the covers by then, and Harry got up again to get off the blanket.

"Did you manage to do your thinking?" he asked cautiously while Barty hesitantly made his way over to Voldemort.

The man nodded and put the cane on the dining table. "Quite," he replied and looked over towards them. "You can stay on the couch, Barty. You are here to rest after all."

"I wanted to apologise once more," Barty insisted, wringing his hands a little. "I was completely out of line yesterday, and, and even if you don't want to hear it, I still need to say it."

Voldemort had sat down at the dining table by then, still wearing his travelling gear, and Barty got to his knees and bowed his head when he reached the man. 

"I'm sorry for my conduct. You… know the reasons, so I won't list them, but know that I'll have myself better under control from now on." Barty reached out to touch the hems of the expensive robes and cloak Voldemort was wearing, and the man let him with an indulgent half-smile. "I don't ever want to give you a reason to be cross with me again, master."

"I am not," Voldemort reassured him and looked up at Harry. "We will need to speak again tomorrow, you and I. But for now – we have one more guest in the basement. My collection of traitors grows by the day."

Voldemort looked equal parts amused and murderous as he said this, and Harry felt a shiver run down his back. No wonder so few people had dared to openly oppose the man during the height of his power.

"What will you do with them?" Barty asked, looking up. "Will you use them to send a message, or will they remain missing?"

"I have not decided yet," Voldemort answered and then looked right at Harry when he continued. "But I feel as if being imprisoned and alone with their thoughts for a good long while will feel like a righteous fate to us who have already suffered the same."

"I'd say I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy," Harry mused, "but I think I actually do. They have all behaved terribly, and they ought to get a taste of their own medicine."

"We will go visit Lucius Malfoy together tomorrow, Harry," Voldemort decided. "He had a great many things to say about you once his tongue was loosened, and he needs to understand how despicably wrong he is in his assumptions."

"Oh? Eh, yeah, sure," Harry replied. 

He wondered whether Lucius had thought telling Voldemort how mean he'd been to Harry Potter would help his standing with the man. If it hadn't been for Dobby, who knows what kind of Dark curse Lucius would have used on Harry after the Chamber incident…

"And also," Voldemort started in a strange tone of voice, "I have a mission for both of you once you are back in Hogwarts. Mhh, no. Make that two missions."

"Is it the diary?" Harry asked. "I think its remains are still in Dumbledore's office."

"Not quite, but it has to do with the diary," Voldemort smirked. _ Since when did he do smirking? _ "Rest assured that these missions are among the most secret and most important assignments I have ever entrusted to anyone. You will not disappoint me with this."

"Of course not, master!" Barty quickly replied, eyes wide and cheeks glowing with how eager he was. "With Moody's eye and Harry's invisibility cloak, we can do anything!"

Harry nodded quickly, too, but desperately hoped it wasn't going to be an assassination plot on Dumbledore or something like that.

"Good," Voldemort nodded. He looked pleased, and even a little excited. "A little reunion, so to speak. So many under one roof…"

Barty and Harry exchanged a confused glance when Voldemort's gaze drifted towards the windows. He looked strangely whimsical, and Harry wondered what kind of reunion the man was thinking about. Were relatives of his still alive? Or what was this about?

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wowowow, a reunion??? :0


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You people are darlings. Thank you all <3

When Voldemort didn't make a move to say anything else and merely continued looking out of the windows, Barty got up off the floor. Harry was glad they wordlessly agreed on not prodding the brooding man because Barty turned to Harry and beckoned for him to follow. A reunion… 

"Cmon, we'll make dinner," Barty invited him. "You can be my sous chef! I've never cooked together with anyone else before."

"What? I'm not gonna cut all the vegetables just to let  _ you _ hog the glory for the main dish!" Harry argued good-naturedly. "I want to be the, uh, be the main chef too!"

"Chef de cuisine," Voldemort told him in a low voice without looking over.

"Yeah, that," Harry agreed with a nod of thanks. "I want to be chef dequistine. Wait, Barty!"

But Barty was already headed for the kitchen, laughing, so Harry hurried after him. 

While they were playing rock, paper, scissors in the kitchen to decide who got to be chef dequistine, Voldemort, who'd apparently followed them and was now leaning against the doorframe, was watching them with wry amusement on his face.

"This place  _ has _ been too quiet," he commented wistfully after Harry had won and relegated Barty to cutting and dicing onions. "I do admit I am looking forward to the end of the school year. I will be in the library, Barty. Send your Patronus for me once dinner is ready, will you?"

Barty nodded eagerly and mock-glared at Harry with tears in his eyes from the rather spicy onions.

"Why don't you use some kind of kitchen charm to take care of the onion vapours?" Harry complained as he wiped his eyes on his sleeve with ostentation.

"I am a  _ chef, _ Harry, not a hobby cook," Barty answered and continued dicing with a vengeance. 

Harry narrowed his eyes at Barty because he was reasonably sure that this was a dig. "You're a brat," he told Barty and stuck his tongue out.

"Excuse me?" Barty laughed. "Who is sticking their tongue out like a little first year right now?"

They continued bickering like this all throughout their cooking endeavour, and Harry enjoyed it so much that his belly was hurting from laughing after dinner. He couldn't remember a time he'd ever laughed quite as much as this – or felt as carefree and unburdened as he did right now.

-o-

The next day, Harry was up early again. Voldemort was in the kitchen once more, reading the paper and drinking his coffee, but this time there was a mug of peppermint tea on what Harry liked to call  _ his _ seat.

"You made me tea?" he asked, touched.

"You made me pancakes," Voldemort countered flatly without looking his way.

Harry turned towards the ice box to hide his little smile. "And today, I'm making you eggs and toast."

Voldemort looked like he wanted to say something, but then he didn't. He merely did that thing older men do with their newspapers where they shake them so they get stiffer and better to read.

"So… are you going to kill Lucius Malfoy for being responsible for your diary getting in harm's way?" Harry asked while rummaging around the ice box.

"I have not decided yet."

"What about Snape then? Do you  _ really _ not care about him dying or were you just very sure I wouldn't kill him?"

Voldemort sighed and put the paper down. "You are obsessed with death, are you not? That is why seeing the thestrals shook you up so much."

"I don't like death or killing," Harry argued with a frown because he really really didn't and never had.

"I am not suggesting you like either of those things – quite the opposite in fact," Voldemort hummed. "You are obsessed with  _ preventing _ death, or with  _ not-killing. _ I believe seeing your parents die at such a young age left a profound impact on you."

"Oh."

Harry didn't know what else to say because he felt a little sick all of a sudden. Thankfully, Voldemort didn't prod, so Harry continued selecting things from the fridge in a contemplative silence.

Was he really so obsessed with preventing murder or death? Then again, who wouldn't be? Except for murderers, maybe. And yet… hadn't he decided for himself yesterday that sometimes justice had to be delivered far away from the court system of Wizarding Britain? 

And wasn't he effectively living with two murderers now?

"Share your thoughts," Voldemort offered. Or demanded? Harry wasn't sure, but he was inclined to humour the man either way.

"I have a moral dilemma," he admitted. "I consider myself a good person, or  _ did,  _ at least, consider myself one. But now… I don't know whether I am still good."

"And good means Light whereas bad means Dark?" Voldemort suggested with a gaze so piercing that Harry blushed and looked to the side.

"I didn't mean to insult you," Harry sighed. "I just… this is hard for me."

"If you want this… arrangement to work out, you need to abolish the dichotomy of good and evil, and of Light and Dark, that exists within your mind." As if drawn in by a spell, Harry left his ingredients on the counter and sat down on his seat opposite Voldemort, listening to what was sure to be an interesting lecture. "Think of morality as a greyscale instead, Harry. There is no good, and there is no evil – Albus Dumbledore is not inherently good for being a Light wizard and I am not a monster for being Dark."

"I used to think you're a monster," Harry blurted out quickly before he lost his nerve. "When I dreamed of you killing that caretaker the summer before this school year started. And back when you were possessing Quirrell."

"And did you think I was a monster when you fought my young shadow down in the Chamber of Secrets?"

Harry was surprised by that question and frowned. "No, I don't think so… why?"

"I have been told in the past that my natural face, unclouded by glamours and the like, is pleasing to look at," Voldemort told him with the air of someone who didn't really care either way. "I wager the guess that had it been me as the homunculus down in the Chamber, you would have called me a monster in retrospect."

Harry wanted to argue that no, he didn't, and he wouldn't have, but that little voice inside his head was calling him a liar and he didn't have it in him to try and silence it.

"Maybe there's some truth to that," he said sheepishly and held onto his mug. It was warm but not too hot in his hands. "So good is linked with beauty and bad is linked with deformed and ugly?"

"Broadly speaking, yes," Voldemort answered. "Humans like matters easy – well, most humans do."

"Who doesn't? People like you?"

"I am not vain enough to make that claim, no," Voldemort replied with a wry smile. "Bettering oneself is a constant up-hill battle, and I  _ do _ enjoy looking at pretty things as much as the next person."

Harry nodded slowly and tried to wrap his head around the things Voldemort had told him. Good and evil not existing, grey instead of black and white… Dumbledore hadn't taken care of Harry after his parents had died. He'd sent him to live with the Dursleys and then never checked in on him, thus allowing him to be beaten, starved and locked in his cupboard. Not to mention that he had to live in a cupboard in the first place! Lupin hadn't come looking for him either even though he'd been best friends with his father.

He couldn't imagine someone like Barty or Voldemort leaving someone they were somehow in charge of in such conditions. And hadn't Harry himself told Barty that Voldemort had crossed half of Europe just to free him? Well, not  _ just _ to save him, also to use him to regain a body, but the matter still stood – Voldemort had come running. And  _ nobody _ had come running for Harry like that… 

Ron did once, didn't he? Ron and the twins… but Ron wouldn't do that again now that they weren't friends anymore. Kids were quicker to act, Harry decided. They see someone in need that they like, and they just do something about it if they can. But adults always went by the book, too afraid of doing something wrong.

And yet, Voldemort didn't… he'd been head boy back in Hogwarts, so he must have been a good student on the surface. But there were still rules he didn't like, so he just ignored those. Harry wondered whether Voldemort had frequented the Forbidden Forest back in the day… 

When he looked up from his musings, Voldemort was watching him with a calm expression. He was probably waiting for Harry to come to whatever conclusion he would end up with.

"So…" Harry started, frowning in concentration, "I think I understood some things now. If you manage to, well,  _ win, _ right? What will you do?"

"By win, you mean take over the ministry?" Voldemort clarified and Harry nodded. "I see. I will overhaul the justice system for one. Old nobles should not have a say both in the passing and the execution of laws. When one body is judge, jury and executioner, willfulness lurks just around the corner."

"But don't you want to be a dictator? Wouldn't that make  _ you _ judge, jury and executioner?"

"My position would ideally be that of an executive consultant with an all-encompassing right to Veto whatever the legislative body proposes," Voldemort explained and Harry had to take a second or ten of frowning to analyse all those difficult words. "Or, more easily: I want to be able to tell anyone at all 'no' when they are about to do or pass something ridiculous."

That was certainly easier to understand, so Harry nodded sheepishly in thanks. "That doesn't sound so bad. And you want to put good people in charge? And I mean good as in, competent?"

"That is indeed the plan," Voldemort nodded. "Magical France has a well-functioning system of government, as does Magical Germany. I aim to strengthen alliances after almost a century or more of insular politics by this ministry. Magical Britain is inbred and old, just like the people inhabiting it. Magically strong pureblooded wizards like Barty and, let's say… the late Evan Rosier, are exceptions."

"I was thinking about that before, too!" Harry said excitedly. "With you and Dumbledore both so strong, and both my mother and Hermione so extraordinary, I was already heavily doubting this Pureblood supremacy thing. I thought…"

"You thought I was a part of the Pureblood elite when you were younger, and that I was going to cater to them," Voldemort mused. "Yes, many people think that, but you need to grab the problem by the root – and I need powerful allies to reach my goals."

"Won't the powerful Purebloods drop you once they understand what you're trying to do?"

"At that point, my power will already be absolute," Voldemort replied confidently. "Plus, every last one of them is too scared to oppose me. Not to mention that a lot of these nobles bear my Mark, and that there is no way to get rid of it."

"You're not even that scary," Harry laughed. "Why is everyone so afraid of you?"

"Because I am powerful, Harry," Voldemort told him with amusement. "There is little that weak people fear more than someone truly powerful."

"So how powerful are you really?" Harry asked with a calculating gaze. "Do you mean powerful as in, able to best anyone in a duel? Or what?"

"There are few people alive that could beat me in a duel, but power is… more than that. Power is better felt than explained, in any case."

Harry wondered whether he'd ever see Voldemort in a situation where the man's power made itself evident. When he had just nonchalantly jumped out of a window two nights ago, it had already been a stunning display… 

"Alright," Harry agreed. "I think I understand you better now, and… I don't regret my decision. Of coming here, I mean."

"That makes you valuable to me," Voldemort replied – rather mysteriously, Harry thought. "Do always come and talk to me when you find yourself adrift, will you?"

Harry wondered what sort of drifting Voldemort meant, but it probably had to do with… doubting? Questioning? Once the questions from others would start coming in after he stopped attending Hogwarts, he might actually take the man up on that offer… 

"I'll try," he replied and forced a small smile on his face.

That was apparently enough for Voldemort because he turned back to his newspaper while Harry finished his tea in silence, lost in thought, before finally getting started on breakfast.

-o-

After breakfast, Voldemort excused himself to his study to do whatever an incognito Dark Lord did when he wasn't humouring his favourite servant and his ex-nemesis. Probably had to do with making plans and covertly contacting people.

Harry spent the morning working on his school assignments until Barty emerged from hibernation. 

"I'm sorry all I do is sleep," Barty apologised when he entered the sitting room instead of saying good morning, so Harry went over and gave him a hug.

"You heard Voldemort, these two weeks are supposed to be you resting up and healing," Harry reassured him. "We'll need to be at our best once we return to Hogwarts. Do you think you can handle the transformations for another two and a half months?"

"I'm not leaving you there on your own," Barty replied almost petulantly. "I put you into this mess, and I'm getting you out of it, too. That maze is going to be hell for you without my help."

"Maze?" Harry asked, a sense of dread washing over him.

Barty made a face when Harry looked up at him and rolled his eyes. "Well I wasn't planning on telling you  _ now _ so you wouldn't stress about it, but you have to maneuver a maze filled with dangerous magical creatures, riddles and the like to reach the winner's cup in the middle."

"Oh goody," Harry sighed. "You know what? I'm just gonna enter and sit that one out near the entrance. Maybe Fleur will stay with me – she's really not into it anymore after getting that close to dying I imagine."

"Oh, the teachers were briefed about her and her sister's condition," Barty shared as they made their way to the kitchen. "They're out of the hospital and even attending classes back in Beauxbatons, but they are still weakened physically as well as magically. The French healers are positive they will be back to normal in less than a year, but it's still, well… it's not good obviously."

"Then she'll sit it out with me and Viktor and Cedric can go and be heroes," Harry decided. 

"I think that's a splendid idea," Barty nodded. "And once the task is over, we sleep, what? One more night in Hogwarts? And then we're off. We'll have over two months during the summer to concoct a story about your whereabouts and to cover our tracks."

"Sounds good, but it'd sound even better with you  _ eating," _ Harry teased and pushed the stasis-charmed extra large portion of eggs and toast over to Barty.

Barty obediently did as he was told and even asked for a dessert. Harry narrowed his eyes because Hermione had said that too many desserts weren't good, but he supposed an apple and a banana wouldn't be amiss. He was adamant that Barty would return to a more healthy weight during their stay here so he wouldn't be sad and weak once the transformations had to start up again.

-o-

An hour before lunchtime, Voldemort found them both curled up on the couch with a book each in their laps.

"And they all said handling children is difficult. All they do is read and cook," Voldemort smirked and sat down on the nearest armchair, legs crossed. "How about a little excursion?"

"Wait a second –" Barty started with a frown but Harry put his Transfiguration book to the side and nodded eagerly.

"Yes!" He was already struggling free from the blankets covering his legs. "I've never really  _ been _ places! Is it somewhere cool? It's… not just the basement, is it?"

"No, it is not just the basement," Voldemort soothed him. "We are going to London's magical district.

"Diagon Alley?" Harry asked excitedly. "I haven't been in years!"

Voldemort made a face as if visiting Diagon Alley was an affront to good taste. "I have no patience for the artificial homeliness of overpriced shop fronts pandering to the masses, Harry."

"So… Knockturne?" Barty asked, closing his book. 

Harry thought the disgruntled expression Voldemort made looked hilarious but knew better than to laugh. He didn't want to make the man feel as if he was making fun of him, and he wanted to see him be human like this in the future, too.

It almost felt like –

"No, Barty, we are not going to Knockturne either," Voldemort replied with a glare.

-o-

In the end, they went to a place called Rittic Alley, two streets removed from both Diagon and Knockturne. Harry was surprised the magical district was this extensive but then again… when would he have ever been able to explore this far? 

"I haven't been properly in public in… fourteen years," Barty whispered, voice tight. 

Harry made to grab his hand, but then remembered they were both glamoured to look like unassuming young men and – he had no idea what the wizarding world's general opinion towards men holding hands was, actually. He'd have to ask someone at some point

"You will tell me when it becomes too much," Voldemort commanded before Harry could find the appropriate words to calm Barty down. "But you have to get used to this again eventually if you ever wish to accompany me to social functions again."

"Did you go to a lot of those, back in the day?" Harry asked curiously. 

"My Lord didn't like them much," Barty replied with a bit of unease because Voldemort had ordered him not to address him as master in public and apparently, that didn't come naturally. "Me, on the other hand… well, I was very young. I liked getting to dress up all fancy."

"I liked dressing up for the Yule ball at Hogwarts too," Harry remembered. Spending time with Luna, Hermione and Viktor had also been nice… maybe attending a ball with Voldemort and Barty, even glamoured like this, would be even better.

"Dressing up loses its appeal after the twentieth ball, believe me," Voldemort scoffed. 

He was glamoured, too. His red eyes were spelled to look dark, and Harry thought they looked exactly like Tom Riddle's eyes had looked. His face, though, was different. It was a little rounder, softer, and he appeared shorter than he actually was. They could walk down the street, and nobody paid much heed to them – it felt amazing.

"We'll see about that," Harry laughed. "So what are you buying here today? Some old artefacts? Almost-illegal Potion ingredients? Don't tell me –  _ dragon eggs!" _

"Groceries," Voldemort sighed. "I am buying groceries, Robert. Rittic Alley is a street operated mostly by muggleborn shopkeepers, and the quality of groceries sourced by Pureblood shops is vastly inferior, not to mention more expensive."

Harry frowned. Voldemort getting his groceries from muggleborn wizards and witches? That was… he giggled. That was so unlikely that no one, neither stuffy Purebloods like Draco nor silly Light wizards like Ron, would ever believe it.

"That's brilliant," Harry decided. "You're brilliant."

Barty laughed at Voldemort's confused expression and put his arm around Harry's shoulders to pull him close. "I've never seen him so flustered, Robert. You truly have a gift."

"Well," Harry snickered right back, blushing a little, "I was kinda born to defy him, wasn't I?"

That made even Voldemort snort. "And just like that, the secret of the prophecy is lifted," he murmured in a low voice. "The saviour vanquishes the Dark Lord by making him choke on his own spit from laughing too hard. A cruel fate, but a deserved one. Everyone cheers. The end."

Harry was reduced to a giggly mess because he could just about see several people's Disappointed stares if that were the true extent of his awesome Boy-Who-Lived powers. "Or maybe I will vanquish you because you get a concussion from rolling your eyes so hard."

"Can we please stop talking about one of you vanquishing the other?" Barty whispered, exasperated. "It's hard enough keeping  _ one _ of you alive, I don't need you fighting each other too."

Harry exchanged a grin with Voldemort and blushed after the man had looked away. He hadn't expected to just… feel this kind of kinship with the Dark Lord once they'd arrived. He thought it was going to be awkward in the house, with him having to tiptoe around whenever he dared to leave whatever space he'd been assigned. And instead, it was becoming a thing that he cooked for all of them in the mornings and had philosophical conversations with Voldemort while doing so. It was all new and yet, it felt familiar, and… safe?

He kept himself in the background while Voldemort got groceries but was secretly gleeful that there were, apparently, prepacked, shrunken boxes of groceries categorised into 'number of household members and weeks to feed them' for those who had the money to be able to afford that service. So no Voldemort strolling through an old-timey grocery store with a shopping basket. And to think Harry had imagined the man actually walking through rows of shelves selecting the nicest cuts of meat… 

‐o-

It happened while Voldemort made them take a detour through Diagon Alley after all. He had business at Gringotts but wanted neither of them to accompany him. Apparently, while the goblins were as discreet as could be, gossip always found a way and Harry and Barty had been quick to agree to wait somewhere else.

Harry keenly understood that sentiment about gossip always trickling through the tiniest cracks, seeing as keeping any kind of secret in Hogwarts was also almost impossible. Even his and "Alastor Moody's" close relationship was an open secret but people were fine with the two weirdos hanging with each other, so they were safe on that front. 

Another front they were safe on was food. Voldemort had handed Harry and Barty a couple galleons each before he left and told them to have some lunch. Since neither of them were especially imaginative nor well-versed in the lunch hotspots of the season, they ended up at a table in the Leaky Cauldron.

They were happy enough at first, but when food arrived, so did a couple guests at the table behind them. From Barty's drawn-up shoulders, Harry theorised it might be someone he knew. As it turned out, Harry knew them as well – if only peripherally.

"I understand the need for a low profile, but  _ this _ establishment?" Narcissa Malfoy sighed in a low voice and Harry exchanged an urgent look with Barty.

"Mrs… Blake, I assure you that we have a lot more privacy here than in Summerisle's," a male voice responded. "About the case you want me to work on, is it about the mysterious disappearance of your husband?"

"No," Narcissa replied emphatically. "No one will believe me, so I won't bother you with my theories, but I have a good idea on where he ended up. This theory leads me to my next course of action: facilitating a speedy and complete acquittal of my cousin."

"You mean –"

_ "Yes," _ Narcissa hissed, stopping the man (a wizarding lawyer?) from naming names. "I want you as my cousin's solicitor. Money is not an issue. All that counts is him being declared innocent of all charges as quickly as possible."

"Sanctuary…" the solicitor whispered. "You wish for sanctuary behind your birth family's secure wards. You don't think… you don't think your husband will return."

"Sanctuary," Narcissa agreed. "For me  _ and _ my son. The man I suspect to be behind this has spies and enablers everywhere. Or rather, he will have them once more in the very near future. I need my son either out of the country or behind the most secure wards in all of Britain before this happens."

The solicitor was quiet after this explanation. Harry was pretty sure that the cousin she was referring to was Sirius, so her helping in his acquittal was good. On the other hand, her being so very sure of Voldemort's involvement was not good at all and when he met Barty's eyes, Harry was sure that they were going to inform Voldemort of this development the very second they had met up again.

They listened in while Narcissa and the solicitor made plans for contacting Sirius and setting up a correspondence and also, finally getting a trial date for Pettigrew, and then they were off again. 

"You got to give it to her," Barty smirked, "she is a Black through and through: ruthless efficiency. She doesn't care a lick about Sirius, but she is willing to move heaven and earth to see him acquitted in order to save her son."

"Is he going to take his anger out on Draco, too?" Harry asked, strangely excited and feeling kinda bad about it.

"My Lord, you mean?" Barty asked and hummed in thought. "He's certainly known to hold a grudge… but I can't tell you anything about his plans for that family. You could ask him later on? I'm sure he'd humour you."

"Maybe I will," Harry agreed.

In truth, he was terribly excited Sirius might be a free and innocent man once again sooner than he had expected. On the other hand, he felt a little sick about the prospect of having to have the  _ conversation _ about his current (and future) whereabouts. He doubted Sirius would ever be able to see Voldemort the way Harry saw him – a valuable ally, and a mentor of sorts. 

"What's wrong, Harry? Peas too mushy?" Barty smiled compassionately and reached for his hand below the table. Harry gladly let his hand be held and stroked with a thumb.

"It's Sirius," Harry whispered, pushing his plate away. "He'll never understand – all this, you know? My father was his best friend, and… it's just so sad that because of my choices, I might not get to, to…"

Barty looked at him with wide eyes. "So you already made the decision to stay even if…"

Harry looked up again from the tabletop when Barty stopped speaking and was surprised to see tears forming in his glamoured eyes.

"Stay even if…?" Harry asked, confused, but then he realised what Barty was referring to. "Oooh. Oh. You mean that I plan on staying even if Sirius… makes a scene and casts me out? Or something like that?"

He was surprised about that realisation himself, but it was true, wasn't it? If Sirius was going to make him choose once Harry's allegiance came out… well. He squeezed Barty's hand and felt that warm tingly feeling in his chest start up again when he looked up at the man.

"I said I'd keep you safe, didn't I?" he whispered. "You're not getting rid of me that easy." 

Barty squeezed his hand right back and cleared his throat. "That's – that makes me happier than I can possibly articulate. Thank you, Ha-Robert."

Voldemort found them half an hour later, casting an unamused glance at their half-eaten lunches. He went to order something for himself and then slid into the booth on Barty's side. After he'd reheated both their plates with a gesture, they obediently took up their forks again and continued eating.

"Have I interrupted something sentimental?" he asked slyly and rested his chin on his hand. 

Barty and Harry both blushed and refused to meet his eyes.

"A little," Barty finally replied after Voldemort's food had arrived as well. "But there's also something important we need to tell you once we're home. We overheard a conversation."

"My little spies coming into their own," Voldemort smirked. "Very well, we'll be off after lunch. Enough hustle and bustle for all of us for a day."

-o-

"So she plans on proving Sirius Black's innocence to get her son away from me," Voldemort summarised their account of what they'd overheard. "I have not yet decided what to do about young Draco. On the one hand, his father has greatly disappointed me – on the other, holding the son responsible for the sins of the father…"

Here, he cast a long look at Barty who held his gaze for a beat or two but then blushed and looked away. 

"No," Voldemort decided, "if I punish Draco Malfoy, it will be due to his own shortcomings. But let her free her cousin if that is what she desires. It would please you to have him be exonerated, Harry, would it not?" Harry flinched when he was addressed and blushed just like Barty did under Voldemort's sudden scrutiny. "You  _ do _ want him free, do you not?"

How could he explain this? Of  _ course _ he wanted Sirius to be free to enjoy his life after so many years of hardship, but if he was free, then he was free to pursue guardianship of Harry and –

"I want only the best for him," Harry rushed to reassure Voldemort, but also himself. "And yet… he's my godfather, and he might strive to become my guardian, and…"

"Ah." Voldemort breathed. "You need not say more. Fortunately for you, I have used some of the free time I get from not having to cook to finally study the contract pertaining to the Triwizard Tournament. Congratulations, you are now a legal adult. As soon as the tournament is over, you are free of your obligations and get to decide about your own affairs."

Harry stared at Voldemort disbelievingly, not quite able to compute what exactly this meant for him. Surely, things couldn't be that easy, could they? They never were this easy for him.

"So no one can..?"

"No," Voldemort smirked. "And even if they could, I would not let them."

"Oh," Harry breathed, almost  _ violently _ struck by how he now had two people who  _ wanted _ him around.

His gaze hardened. So what if one was a Dark Lord and the other a wanted criminal? They had done so much more for him than anyone else… and the world was a greyscale anyways, wasn't it? You could do bad things and still be a good person. Harry had done bad things by now, but he was still a good person, wasn't he? The alternative… no. Barty and Voldemort were good people despite some of the bad things they'd done. It really was that simple.

He'd been sitting on the couch so far, curled up with Barty, while Voldemort, armchair facing the fire, had listened to their little tale about Narcissa Malfoy. Yet now, as if drawn in by an invisible band suddenly pulling taut, Harry got up from the couch and crossed the short distance to where Voldemort was sitting.

While they had been eating in the Leaky Cauldron, the weather outside had changed and it was now raining and storming outside. The walk up to the small manor had only been bearable because Voldemort and Barty had cast a shield over their heads to keep off the rain and the strong winds.

And yet, the storm had another effect as well: the broiling darkness outside despite the early hour threw Voldemort's sharp features into sharp relief, what with the fire painting dancing shadows on his skin. He looked like an animated painting as he returned Harry's gaze calmly, if a little quizzically, before he came to some sort of realisation.

With his mouth pulled into a handsome, satisfied smile, he patted the side of his thigh and Harry drew in a breath before sitting down next to the man's legs, his back to the armchair. A large hand with long, elegant fingers found its way onto his head, simply resting there, and Harry exhaled a puff of air before relaxing and letting his head bob to the side to lean against Voldemort's leg.

There was movement to his left, and Harry knew without looking that Barty was mimicking his pose on Voldemort's other side.

"Adding onto what you boys have promised each other," Voldemort mused, fingers digging (pleasantly) into Harry's scalp, "I will see to it that no harm befalls you."

And just like that, Harry believed him. He'd been hurt badly in Hogwarts, despite people telling him it was the safest place for him. His friends had been hurt, too. Ginny had almost died, Ron had been hurt severely during the chess match in their first year, Hermione had been petrified, and Harry himself had had too many close encounters to even count them all… 

He turned his face to the side and buried his nose in the rich fabric of Voldemort's expensive overrobes. He smelled clean, and vaguely spicy, and Harry thought he could get used to having someone powerful in his corner like this.

"Thank you," he murmured, and the hand tightened again in silent acknowledgement. 

The fire was warm on the side of Harry's face and on his legs, and the rug he was sitting on was soft. Quite without conscious thought, he reached out to wrap his arms around the leg he was leaning on and fought valiantly against the sudden urge to have a little cry.

He was going to stay strong, like he always did. And he'd get to be even stronger now, because there were people rooting for him who took the time to explain things to him. The Weasleys, for all that they'd taken him in for part of two summers, had never answered any questions he'd had.

So far, everyone had tried to keep things secret from him – either because he was  _ too young, _ whatever that meant for an orphan who'd willingly risked his life time and again, or maybe because they'd been afraid he'd either willingly or unwillingly spill all classified information he'd been given.

And here, Voldemort had just  _ told him _ of his plan to overthrow the ministry, and about the prisoners he kept in the basement, and about so many other little things… and that wasn't even counting Barty who'd bared his heart for Harry to do with as he pleased, heedless of the possibility of Harry turning around and turning him in.

He didn't say it aloud, but he decided in this very moment that Voldemort was going to be included in the promise he'd made to Barty – if he was in danger, Harry was going to do his damndest to get him out of there!

All he hoped for was that his promise wasn't going to be put to the test too soon – he still needed time to get strong enough to be able to keep it.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bold statement, Harry-my-boy. Bold statement.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Sunday Rabdate! :D
> 
> I wasn't ready last Monday cause nightshift fucked me as hard as Vee is gonna fuck – well you knoW what I mean.

It was already Tuesday. Breaks in Hogwarts had always seemed to stretch like toffee, but out here in the real world, time seemed to fly instead. As he stretched in his bed, in his own room, Harry wished for the first time that a break would last forever.

He rolled over and stared blankly at the unfocused alarm clock on his nightstand before realising he'd forgotten his glasses. They were still next to his pillows because he had lain awake for quite some time the evening before, staring out into the starry night sky.

There had been many things on his mind. He'd brooded over the nature of morality, reflected on some of his own actions, and even taken the time to have some imaginary discussions with his godfather. Some of them had turned out alright, some had turned them into bitter enemies, but most had merely… let them drift apart without ever really having connected.

Harry yawned, sighed and then felt his heart drop when he finally put his glasses on his nose and realised that the alarm clock read 9:24 am. He'd _ overslept! _

Technically speaking, he had no appointments, a quiet voice in his mind reminded him. He was on a school break, so really… all he'd done was sleep in. Still, he'd been planning to do a full english for breakfast today, and now he couldn't because Voldemort had probably already eaten by now!

And yet, he didn't have it in himself to hurry. After getting ready (and after another hot, long, _ solitary _ shower) a very relaxed Harry strolled down the stairs with only some of his new, well-fitting socks on his feet. Now that he didn't have to wear uncle Vernon's old socks anymore, his feet didn't get as sweaty and smelly as they used to get and it was glorious.

The kitchen was empty, but there was a stasis-charmed plate of hash browns on Harry's seat. His heart did a spirited little bout of pitter pattering, and he went to look for someone to keep him company while eating breakfast.

He soon found both Barty and Voldemort in the sitting room and was about to announce his presence when he realised Barty was _ crying. _ He stopped short and took a step back to lean against the wall outside the sitting room, listening in. He knew it wasn't the proper thing to do, but he was sure Barty was going to try and keep it together for his sake – and he wanted to know what was up.

"– missed you every single day," Barty said in a low voice. In addition to tearful, his voice also sounded a little muffled but Harry had seen how his face was buried in Voldemort's robes.

"I know," Voldemort replied with amusement colouring his voice. "You have only said so roughly a couple dozen times by now, both in person and in letters."

Harry could hear Barty laugh through his tears. "It never feels like I've said it enough."

"I have nothing against it, so you might as well keep saying it."

Barty didn't answer, so Harry dared to peek in again. Looking in from the hallway, the fireplace was to the left, and the armchair Voldemort was sitting in was facing away from Harry. 

All he could see… Harry grinned. All he could see of Voldemort was a hand, just like when they'd first gone to visit him. It was resting on Barty's head, just like yesterday, and Barty seemed content to simply… exist at his master's feet.

Harry was peripherally surprised by how little he minded Barty, his… well. How little he minded Barty, who he had a _ thing _ with, to be this close to someone else. It probably helped that the someone was Voldemort who just _ had a way _ with people if he wasn't being a nightmare vision of eldritch capacity.

Just as he was about to leave them to it, Barty started talking again – hesitantly this time. 

"I've been meaning to ask, master… you are different than you used to be."

"Oh? Different how? Different from how I was back in 1981, or different from August last year when I came to save you?"

"Both," Barty replied, voice not as muffled as before. He might have been looking up, so Harry didn't dare peek in again. "I liked you back then, too, of course I did, but… when you came to save me, you were nicer than before, and ever since, ever since Harry…"

Barty hesitated, and there was a heavy silence for a bit. Ever since Harry what? Had he _ done _ anything? Hopefully nothing wrong!

"Ever since you called me to you to talk about Harry and me, you've changed. You giving me your okay to tell Harry the truth in February – that was a _ surprise, _ master. A welcome one, but… why?"

Harry felt his heartbeat quicken. He really shouldn't be listening in like this, but _ how could he not? _ So it was due to him that Voldemort was nicer now? Had he inadvertently done anything maybe? Their letters hadn't been _ totally _ emotional, after all. Maybe… maybe it had to do with the circumstances that led to them connecting with each other's wands? 

Harry was still confused by that and wanted nothing more than to sic Hermione on the problem. Alas, explaining to her why he needed information on that particular _ incredibly rare and probably maybe unprecedented occurrence? _ Yeah, he wasn't going there.

"Mmh, a good question," Voldemort allowed and Harry perked up again. "You are right insofar as that it does, in fact, have to do with your dear Harry, and what you have told me about him. Unfortunately, I cannot give you specifics at this point in time. Your mind is simply too unstable."

"I've been doing my Occlumency exercises every evening, master!" Barty replied quickly, almost hungrily. 

"I know you have, but thirteen years of mental trauma are not remedied by two months of meditation, Barty. You know that."

There was a sigh from Barty, and then his voice sounded muffled again. "You're right. You always are… do you think the nightmares will stop eventually?"

"Only time will tell," Voldemort answered in a soft voice.

Harry felt a curious sort of tugging sensation in his chest at the realisation that Barty was having nightmares. Not for the first time, he wondered what Azkaban was like – not in the way that he wanted to actually go there and explore, never that, he merely… couldn't imagine being exposed to dementors for more than like, ten minutes without going crazy. To think that Barty had been there for a year before going to yet another prison, and Sirius had endured the dementors for _ eleven _ years...

He pushed himself away from the wall and tiptoed into the kitchen to retrieve his hash browns and go somewhere else. Why was he responsible for Voldemort being different this time around? Was it because he'd been responsible for Voldemort having kind of… died, and then having a lot of time and not much else on his (non-corporeal) hands? Maybe he partook in that self-reflection thing Hermione was so into at the moment?

(He really ought to send her a letter to say hi.)

Harry heaved a big breath. He needed to clear away the lingering cobwebs of the overheard conversation before he lost himself in analysing everything to death.

-o-

Five minutes later, his plate with hash browns still in hand, he was outside the door to Severus Snape's cell. Room, maybe? No, cell, he decided. He drew in a deep breath, exhaled, breathed in again and then entered without knocking. 

Snape looked up at him with a glare, only for his eyes to widen when he saw who it was.

"Potter," he whispered, disbelieving. "He is not with you?"

"No," Harry answered simply and sat cross-legged on the floor across from Snape, well out of his reach.

Snape's brows drew together when he saw that Harry had brought food with him and Harry felt a pang inside his chest. 

"You _ do _ get food, don't you?"

"Nutrient potions," Snape ground out. "They are not ideal, but they fulfill their duty."

"Good," Harry nodded, feeling a little silly. "That's good."

At least that meant he wasn't unknowingly torturing Snape by eating in front of a starving man. Now that he was in the otherwise barren and empty room with Snape, he felt awkward enough as it were.

"Did you come here to gloat?" Snape asked, voice hollow. "I vaguely remember you stunning me back in Hogwarts."

"I didn't mean to," Harry shrugged. "You antagonised me so much that I blew a fuse. You can be glad I didn't use _ Sectumsempra _ with how mean you were to me."

Snape grit his teeth in response and narrowed his eyes even more. The magical torch in the corner behind Harry let the man's dark eyes look like they were entirely black with just a little speck of light in them. Maybe this could be a metaphor for Snape's soul? No, that was probably too melodramatic.

"I never understood why you always hated me so much," Harry sighed. "Barty said you liked my mum a lot, so shouldn't you have liked me a little too? Or did I remind you too much of my father? Barty says my father and his friends were mean to you – but _ I _was never mean to you. I was just a kid when we met."

He didn't even have it in himself to feel angry about Snape's past conduct towards him anymore. All he wanted was maybe a reason, something that would tell him why the prickly man had chosen an unassuming eleven-year-old as his favourite emotional punching bag.

"Barty's told you an awful lot," Snape replied testily instead of saying anything of importance so Harry rolled his eyes.

"He has, and he continues being one of the few people in my life to do so."

Snape lost some of the standoffishness in his features. "And what do you mean by that?"

"What I mean by that is that hardly anyone's ever bothered to tell me _ anything," _ Harry replied, getting annoyed. "And since no adult took care of me, I branched out and found better adults to look up to. Oh and also, I'm emancipated now thanks to the tournament."

"It would be a lot easier to like you if you weren't so disgustingly self-righteous," Snape spat and Harry recoiled in surprise at the vitriol. "Look at you – poor little orphan boy who doesn't get enough love and admiration from a world that _ adores _ you, so he runs into the arms of an insane mass murderer and his pet servant! And you think it is _ that _ which will finally convince me of you being in any way likeable?"

Harry was stunned into silence for so long that his hash browns almost slid off his plate because his grip loosened. There were so many things in that rant to be angry about, but what struck him the most was –

"They don't adore _ me," _ he argued, voice trembling with ill-concealed rage. "What they adore is, is, it's the _ idea _ of the Boy-Who-Lived, and not _ Harry. _ Nobody sees just Harry the first time they meet me, they all expect me to be this, this larger-than-life boy warrior when in reality, I'm a mediocre student and wizard at _ best." _

"And the Dark Lord of course understands all the hardships you face, and he's offered you a place at his side," Snape said flatly. "Have you ever considered that _ maybe _ he is doing all this so the one prophesied threat that might end him is made null and void? That you're not the _ first _ he's made promises to he doesn't plan on keeping?"

Harry felt the blood turn to ice in his veins. He knew Voldemort was manipulative – it was at the very heart of being a Dark Lord, he supposed. But he wouldn't be manipulative towards _ him, _ would he? Voldemort genuinely liked Barty, and the sort of positive attention he got from Barty. (Harry thought there probably weren't many people who actually liked Voldemort much as a person, so of course Barty was important to the man.)

"It's different," Harry said emphatically. "He likes me because Barty likes me. And he likes Barty."

"The Dark Lord doesn't _ do _ like, Potter," Snape said, softer this time. "It's all a ploy to make you harmless, and to alienate you from the people who _ actually _ care about you."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "And who would that be? Because I personally spoke to Dumbledore maybe five or six times in my _ life, _ so he doesn't count. Ron fully stopped being my friend once he didn't believe I didn't put my name in the goblet, and I doubt I'm welcome at the Weasleys' anymore."

Snape sighed in a way that made Harry feel like a particularly dull, unruly child. _ "Headmaster _ Dumbledore is a busy man. He can't be expected to be present in every student's life, Potter," the man explained and Harry felt his blood start to boil again.

"Who else?"

"What?"

"Who else _ actually _ cares about me?"

As expected, Snape stayed silent.

"Not even the only blood family I have left likes me, did you know that?" Harry asked bitterly.

"Of course not," Snape huffed, an almost melancholy expression on his face. "Petunia has always hated magic, jealous woman that she is."

_ "Petunia?" _ Harry asked, incredulous. "You know my _ aunt?" _

"I do," Snape answered, and for the first time, he wasn't spitting venom. "Your mother and I grew up in the same town. We were best friends in Hogwarts for a time."

In another lifetime, this revelation might have moved Harry and let him see the man in another light, but right here, right now, all he felt was resignation and silent anger.

"I see," he replied simply. "So you left her only child to rot in a cupboard because she chose another guy over you? I'd like to say I'm surprised, but I'm really not. You are part of what's wrong with the wizarding world, Severus Snape, and I hate you for it. Magical orphans will have it a lot better in Voldemort's new Magical Britain."

Snape's eyes had widened at the mention of a cupboard, but his gaze had quickly returned to glowering once Harry continued.

"Leave now, Potter," Snape pressed out, face contorted with anger. "I have nothing to say to a loyal servant of the Dark Lord."

"That's because you're a double traitor, and they better shut their mouths lest they betray _ everyone," _ Harry glared right back. 

Just to spite Snape, he continued eating his hardly-touched hash browns while keeping eye contact. Voldemort had told him that Snape was in magic-binding manacles since he could do a considerable amount of wandless magic, and that also bound the man's Legilimency. Harry decided he liked being able to glare at people, and vowed to ask Barty or Voldemort about learning Occlumency to protect his mind.

When he was done eating, Harry got up. "You will not be getting out of here," Harry promised darkly. "I don't like you, and he doesn't like you either. Either change your tune and do something worthwhile with the rest of your life, or rot in here like every magical adult has let me rot until my eleventh birthday and for every summer thereafter."

"Fine!" Snape bellowed, spittle flying in Harry's direction. "Betray the very world your parents, your _ mother, _ died to save, you ungrateful little _ brat! _ See if I care!"

"I know you don't," Harry replied as calmly as he could. "You've shown me that all you care about is my mother, and that you couldn't live with yourself ever since you realised that you were responsible for her being targeted and killed."

They continued glaring at each other for a while, both probably thinking the other one was a waste of resources and energy, and then Harry left.

Outside, Voldemort was waiting for him.

Harry almost froze, but then he closed the door as if nothing had happened and made his way to go back up the stairs. His knees felt as if they were made of wood, so locked were they, but he somehow made it a couple steps.

"Wait," Voldemort called after him with his smooth voice, and Harry stopped. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

Harry's hands turned to fists at his side and he felt his shoulders tense up. "I didn't find what I was hoping for, but I found what I expected."

There were steps on the rough ground behind him, and then Voldemort was next to him. A hand landed on Harry's shoulder and squeezed.

"I will not bore you with platitudes, but whatever he has told you about me –"

"It doesn't matter," Harry interrupted, "He's full of shit. I don't care."

"You do care," Voldemort chuckled and led Harry towards the stairs. "You care a lot."

Harry deflated and felt all the pent-up tension leave him. He did care a lot about things. He cared about the (few) people that were important to him, and he cared too much about what all the other people thought about him as well. Just remembering that whole "Potter Stinks" fiasco… it wasn't as if it was _ surprising _ for someone in his position to turn to people who stuck up for him.

"We will not meet with Lucius Malfoy today either," Voldemort told him and steered him up the stairs and into his study. "Who knows whether I will take you to meet with him at all during this break."

Harry hummed in response. To be honest, he didn't much care for meeting with Lucius Malfoy. Instead, he was curious when they entered Voldemort's study because he hadn't been in there before. It was a classically-furnished room with a desk, a fireplace, a leather couch and lots of cabinets lining the walls. What was striking was that the far wall was entirely made up of windows which gave a nice view of the grounds outside.

The other noteworthy element was Voldemort's huge snake curled up in front of the merrily crackling fire. She looked up at their approach and flicked her tongue out, smelling the air.

_ "The child," _ she said to Voldemort. _ "The other Speaker." _

_ "Yes," _ Voldemort replied smoothly. It still felt like English to Harry, but the man's voice sounded different in Parseltongue. _ "He is troubled." _

The snake tasted the air again and turned her attention to Harry. _ "You can truly speak then?" _

_ "I can," _ Harry affirmed and Voldemort's hand, still on his shoulder, tightened. _ "My name is Harry. What's your name?" _

It felt a little weird to introduce himself to a snake, but then she looked at him with the sort of uncanny intelligence that "normal" animals didn't have, and all notions of weirdness floated away.

_ "Voldemort has given me the name Nagini," _ she hissed and settled back down. _ "You are welcome here if you behave and are good to my friend." _

_ "No, I'm, I will," _ Harry reassured her quickly. _ "He's been good to me, too, ever since I came here." _

_ "Then you may stay as long as you please," _ she declared and curled back up.

_ "I have never spoken this language with another human," Voldemort said slowly, deliberately, and Harry looked up at him. _

_ "I talked Parseltongue with your younger self," _ Harry mused. _ "Or rather, we both talked to the basilisk but it only listened to him. It was a very stressful day." _

_ "I understand," _ Voldemort replied, still in that strange tone. _ "I was… overzealous in my youth." _

_ "Are you that excited about me speaking Parseltongue with you?" _ Harry asked, grinning a little. 

_ "If only you knew." _

Voldemort's hand tightened once more on Harry's shoulder. It felt reassuring and steadying, and if he was completely honest with himself, he didn't like it when the hand let go and made a gesture for him to sit on the expensive-looking couch.

_ "I don't like Snape," _ Harry said emphatically after sitting down. _ "He makes my skin crawl." _

_ "Traitors tend to have those qualities," _ Voldemort agreed and sat down next to Harry. _ "This one in particular is double-crossing, so your revulsion is to be expected. I, myself, find his conduct… lacking. I will keep him alive yet as a bargaining chip, but he will not leave his prison in this life." _

_ "A bargaining chip for Dumbledore?" _

_ "Mhh, yes. The old man always has an ace up his sleeve, so being well-prepared is half the battle." _

_ "Do you expect a battle then?" _

Voldemort was quiet, so Harry looked over to him. His expression was softer than Harry had seen it before, and it made him look a lot more like the (softer) young Tom Riddle Harry had met in the Chamber.

_ "I always expect a battle," _ Voldemort finally replied, voice wistful. _ "Though I am looking forward to a time when I do not have to do so anymore." _

_ "I'm also looking forward to being away from Hogwarts. I… I never thought I'd ever say that, but the beautiful bubble of it being a place of magic and home burst in my second year." _ He thought of all the fights and dangerous situations he'd been in and wondered, not for the first time, how half of them could have happened in the first place. _ "I like it much better here." _

"Then I did right by you," Voldemort decided, switching back to English. 

With humans, it was easier to tell that they were speaking Parseltongue than with snakes, Harry realised. He wondered whether both of them had always been able to talk to snakes… 

"I freed a snake from a zoo when I was ten, you know," he shared. "It was my cousin's birthday and the old lady I stayed with every time the Dursleys did anything fun had a broken leg or something. My cousin was knocking on the glass like a mad man but the snake didn't care so I went over there and we commiserated. It was the first time I found out I could talk to snakes…"

"And you freed it how?"

"It was accidental magic," Harry grinned. "My cousin came waddling back when he saw the snake holding its head up and knocked me to the side. I was pretty mad, and then the glass vanished and the snake said thank you and mimed biting my cousin as it slithered to freedom. Unfortunately, I never found out whether he made it back to… Brazil or something?"

Apparently, something within that story seemed to have struck a chord with Voldemort because the man tried to suppress a smile at first but gave it up as a lost cause and started… laughing?

Harry's eyes grew wide because he'd never heard Voldemort laugh before. A chuckle here and there, yes, but never this! His laugh was rich and not at all sardonic or mean – in fact, it was so infectious that Harry couldn't help but laugh along.

"And to think they've all got you pegged as a Gryffindor," Voldemort snorted as he was beginning to calm down. "You would have done great in Slytherin. Still, it is fortunate that things have worked out the way they have, with you ending up where you are now."

Harry felt his chest constrict and all he could do was nod. He was also glad to be where he was right now, and yet… after talking to Snape, there was one thing Harry needed to ask and have an answer to.

"I have one question for you," he started, and Voldemort, probably feeling the shift in the atmosphere, sobered up and watched Harry with curiosity. "My mother… you gave her the option to stand aside but she didn't. Do you… why didn't she fight back? Why did she just, just let you do it? Do you know?"

Voldemort held his gaze for a long moment. Harry thought he'd gone too far, but then he got another show of humanity from the man: Voldemort leaned against the backrest of the couch and overextended his neck as he looked up at the pretty white stucco ceiling.

"Your mother was, above all, as much of a foolish girl as you are a foolish boy," Voldemort replied in a tone that was almost whimsical. "You may look like your father, but your spirit is all your mother's. She was – the man who taught Potions when I was a student was still there teaching when your parents went to Hogwarts. Slughorn, he was called, and despite the awkward name, he is a _ prodigy _ both in teaching and in Potions. I tried recruiting him time and again, but he politely refused every single time."

Harry almost forgot to breathe. He couldn't believe that it would be _ Voldemort _ of all people who'd share stories about his parents with him. So many people could have… Lupin had a full year for it, Snape didn't because he hated Harry too much and Sirius of course hadn't had much time for it. And Dumbledore, well, the day the old man would willingly tell anyone anything was the day Snape would hand out O's and candy bars to every kid in class.

"He had this club while in school – the Slug Club. Again, a most unfortunate choice in names," Voldemort continued, still with a fond sort of voice, "but an important club nevertheless. In it, he collected students of important heritage or with noteworthy intellect. I was a member in my day, and so was your mother in hers. She was one of his favourites, and I watched his club with a keen eye. I could not be seen openly recruiting muggleborn of course, so I tried recruiting both her and her then-boyfriend who was the Pureblood scion of an important and rich House."

"And she said no?"

"I am not sure," Voldemort answered honestly. _ "He _ said no, and there was only the one answering letter. They were head boy and head girl at the time… I have, in my years as a wraith, fantasized about whether her answer might have changed if I had written to her only, and if all of history might have changed thereafter. Alas, if wishes were thestrals…"

Harry's head was swirling. Not only had Voldemort offered him a place at his side in his first year, but now he'd also tried to recruit his _ parents? _ What if they had accepted? Would the war have ended differently?

"Shame they said no," Harry sighed. "But we can only try and, and do better the second time around, I guess? Use that second chance?"

"We shall," Voldemort agreed. "This time, I am doing things the right way."

They sat in companionable silence afterwards. Harry found himself imagining a life where he grew up with his parents, both Marked, and had an actual room with toys just for him. With not a small amount of self-deprecation, he thought that that fantasy Harry wouldn't have turned out to be the kind of teenager to run into the arms of a mass murderer to get away from being bullied and belittled.

Would that Harry have been Sorted into Slytherin? Would he have become friends with a not-quite-as-pompous Draco Malfoy? Or maybe he'd have been friends with bookish Theodore Nott and intentionally-blasé Blaise Zabini? 

If wishes were thestrals… Harry rubbed his hand over his face after taking his glasses off with the other one and ran it through his hair for good measure.

"So you're doing everything right this time," Harry repeated. "Have you… _ started _ yet? Does anyone but me and Barty know you're back?"

"Yes, there are a handful of followers who know," Voldemort answered. "Old friends, acquaintances, allies… I will take you and Barty to meet them this holiday – glamoured up, of course. Depending on how the visit goes, I will reveal either or both your identities. Unless you have objections?"

Harry thought about that for a moment, but he didn't hold any illusion that his affiliation would stay secret forever. So why not gauge people's reactions with a gathering vetted by Voldemort himself?

"No, it'll be fine. But what's their excuse for not looking for you?"

"They simply believed I had died. Few people in history can boast of true immortality, Harry, so me having actually attained it was unlikely at best."

"So they thought you were a liar?"

"Apparently so."

"Well that's just a rude thing to think for a friend."

"I shall bring that up to them," Voldemort promised, amused, and Harry nodded.

"See that you do. Oh, and where's Barty?"

"Barty is preparing both lunch and dinner so he can spend the whole afternoon outside with you. There was talk of riding brooms together at some point?"

"Oh that's brilliant!" Harry exclaimed and jumped up. "He remembered! He used to play Quidditch too at some point, you know? See you at dinner, I'll convince him to eat lunch in the air! Bye!"

And with that, Harry ran off.

-o-

Spending the afternoon broom riding over the rather extensive grounds Voldemort called his own with Barty helped Harry get his mind off his rather explosive argument with Snape. It even served to tire him out enough to just fall into bed after dinner.

The next days all blended together in a relaxing blur of studying, being tutored by Barty, and sometimes having discussions with Voldemort on a whole host of subjects. But all in all, Voldemort was a little more absent than he'd been in the first days of Easter break. Harry wondered where he went when he wasn't home, and he even asked Barty about it at some point, but Barty didn't know either.

"I assume he is doing secret Dark Lord things," Barty merely laughed. "I wouldn't worry too much about it. He does this sometimes – disappearing for days on end, I mean. I guess he's really used to living a solitary lifestyle."

"That's kinda sad," Harry replied and set to coaxing Nagini out of Voldemort's study so at least _ she _ wasn't alone all the time.

It took a while to get her to emerge, but when she did, she soon grew rather fond of sprawling all over Harry's and Barty's legs where they were sitting on the couch next to the fireplace.

And so they sat again on the Sunday evening, Easter Sunday actually, with Barty telling Harry a story about Wizarding History that _ wasn't _ Goblin rebellions for once. (It was, in fact, about the ascension of Grupert Sparrow to the position of Chief during the time of the Wizard's Council, way before the ministry had been founded in 1707, and it was _ fascinating.) _

Just as Barty began launching into how the leader of the opposition had prepared burlap sacks full of doxies to disrupt a meeting about the rights of magical creatures, the door to the sitting room flew open and Voldemort strode in with heavy steps.

He looked a curious mixture of miserable and furious, and neither Harry nor Barty quite knew what to make of such a dramatic entrance. 

In the end, it was Nagini who tried to save the situation from becoming too stressful.

_ "Stop scaring the young ones," _ she hissed and uncoiled from where she had been curled up on Harry's chest. _ "They were good. I made sure of it." _

Harry looked on curiously as Voldemort laboriously drew in deep breath after deep breath until his demeanor changed back into the aloof elegance Harry was beginning to get used to.

"Barty," Voldemort said with stern authority. 

"Yes, master?" Barty answered, putting his mug of cocoa to the side.

"Regulus Black," Voldemort ground out. "Did he have a middle name?"

Harry was confused, but Barty looked confused as well, so he didn't feel too bad about it. Why was this detail so important?

"I… think he was named after his grandfather, Arcturus?" Barty said after thinking it over for a bit.

Voldemort's glare grew darker again, and Harry felt his mouth begin to feel dry as the air pressure in the room seemed to drop. Was this the sort of raw _ power _ Voldemort had mentioned? Harry began trembling.

"Regulus Arcturus Black," Voldemort spat out ominously, and the very air seemed to shift and grow dark around him. "I curse that name – and may it hereafter never be uttered in my presence again!"

With that, he stormed off again, and Harry felt singularly unprepared to deal with any of the implications of this outburst. What had Regulus _ done? _

"What does that even mean?" Harry asked, disturbed, but Barty could only hopelessly shrug. 

"Whatever it means," he replied, "it's not good."

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Vee trying to recruit James and Lily is CANON_
> 
> Also, Vee is singularly underprepared for his "family reunion" because with them, lots of those pesky human emotions are returning. He's already feeling the effects now, with [REDACTED NUMBER] of them around!


End file.
